


The Most Deadly Alliance

by Emachinescat



Series: Merlin's Beard! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Crossover, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Humor, Romance, Season/Series 01, Suspense, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-29
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 106,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A deadly alliance has been made, a terrible deal has been struck. When Harry and his friends find themselves in ancient Camelot, they and their new friend Merlin are faced with a terrible evil that is intent on killing them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - An Alliance Is Struck

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The tall, skeletal form stayed perfectly still. He had been standing in the same spot for nearly two hours, not moving an inch—not a blink of the unnaturally red eyes or a twitch of the snake-like slits that served as nostrils. It was inhuman, supernatural.

He was standing in a clearing in the center of a great wood. A small fire was hissing a haunting tune as it danced eerily in a perfect circle. No smoke came from the flames. The fire was beginning to wane. Soon, it would be time. The moment was drawing nigh, and although he should have been shifting in exhaustion, boredom, or anticipation, the solitary figure showed no display of his emotions whatsoever.

As the flames died down into flickers of orange, then to mere burning embers, the red-eyed man drew a gnarled, black stick from the sleeve of his robe and pointed it at the glowing circle on the ground. He began to chant, hissing out words that were as evil as they were mysterious.

_"'N hen sillafa chan er ys talwm ddyfynna 'r hysbryd chan naill ag 'r allu chan amsera a addoed."_

After the ancient, powerful spell was recited, the dark wizard put away his wand and waited. Almost instantly, the burning embers of the circle were snuffed out and a gust of icy wind swept over the clearing. Still, the man—if he was indeed human—did not stir.

A mist began to form, starting in the middle of the circle and spreading over the entire clearing. From the depths of the mist a figure appeared, partly transparent and ethereal, shrouded in fog. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair that fell over her bare, pale shoulders in perfect spiral curls. Her complexion was flawless and white, like that of a porcelain doll. Intense blue eyes looked up at him from beneath long, dark lashes. Her lips were full, red, and perfect.

She stared at him for a long moment.  _Who are you?_ Her mouth was not moving but he could hear her soft, melodic voice in his head.

He spoke with his mind as well, directing his words into the head of the beautiful sorceress before him.  _My name is Lord Voldemort._

_Why do you call my spirit here?_

He chose his words carefully. His voice, even in her mind, was serpentine and morbid. It was a voice feared by all.  _I am a very powerful wizard,_  he thought,  _the most powerful that ever lived._

The woman smirked.  _That, I'm afraid is not true. I can think of two greater than you. Myself, and—although it pains me to admit it, but I'm an honest woman—Merlin._

Lord Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously and a sinister hiss escaped his thin, snarling lips.  _If you knew what I am capable of, what I have done, you would not speak such lies. I am more powerful than a witch like you could ever dream._

The woman frowned slightly.  _Who are you to contest my powers? If you are so much more powerful than me, then why do you call upon my services? Surely your great magic can get you whatever it is you seek._ She said this with more than a hint of sarcasm, a coy smile playing her lovely features.

Voldemort's ruby eyes narrowed.  _I believe that we can help each other,_ he said finally, choosing to, at the moment, ignore her taunt.  _The legendary Merlin seems to be an object of both our interests._

The woman's eyes never strayed from his.  _Continue._

_I was reading some ancient texts, searching for answers to a riddle that has been puzzling me for nearly sixteen years when I came upon a legend of a powerful sorceress from the time of the great purge of Camelot, Nimueh. It was said that she had great, ancient powers so strong that time itself would bend to her will._

She nodded slightly.  _What is it you wish of me?_ Nimueh asked slowly.

_Quite like your quarrel with Merlin, I, too, have a foe that I cannot seem to rid myself of. He is protected from my magic by an ancient magic but since you are a priestess of the Old Religion and know the Ancient Magic, perhaps you would have the means to help me take out my enemy._

Nimueh nodded.  _I could. But what do I get in return?_

_My payment is just. Get rid of Potter and his friends, and I will rid your kingdom of Merlin, the King, and the Prince._

_And how will you accomplish this, when I, priestess of the Old Religion, cannot? What makes you so sure you can defeat the 'legendary' Merlin? He has powers beyond those you will ever know._

Voldemort's eyes flashed.  _That may be true, but with my plan, we can take care of both Potter and Merlin in one blow because in the future, in_ my _world, we have a new form of magic. While it may not be as powerful as the great and legendary Merlin's, it is different and will be difficult for him to fight back. I have studied the Old Religion some, so I know what to expect, but Merlin…he does not know the ways of Lord Voldemort…_

Nimueh smiled.  _You make sense. But I am but a spirit. I can lead others into the past, as time is in my hands, but have no way to travel myself, unless I am called forth, a mere vapor. I cannot touch them here. I must bring them here, to Camelot. When I have them in Camelot, you will arrive as well and finish off Merlin. Then I will kill your Potter._

Voldemort dipped his head.  _Very well. It is agreed._

_I will begin the preparations right away, Lord Voldemort. I will come to you in a dream when it is time._

She disappeared as quickly as she had come, yet the mist remained. Lord Voldemort smiled. Everything was going according to plan.


	2. The Voice in the Night

_H_ _arry..._

The voice was soft, ethereal, angelic. It rose and fell like the ocean tides, breezy, melodic, so very real but not actually existing. It was enticing, enchanting, and alluring. It seemed very familiar but oh, so foreign at the same time. The voice was a paradox.

_Harry..._

His name swept through the air again, tickling his face and caressing his neck. He turned in his sleep, not wanting the voice to stop, wanting it to go on forever...

_Harry._

The voice was more urgent this time. It was still wonderful, still the only sound in the world, but this time, the lovely voice was strained. Perhaps even scared.

_Harry!_

His eyes snapped open, intense green orbs staring fuzzily at the ceiling of the canopy on his four-poster bed. Thick, red, velvet curtains hung around the bed on each side, and as he lay there, eyesight hindered by the fact that he wasn't wearing his glasses, he wished that the voice he had heard hadn't been a dream. He immediately closed his eyes again, hoping to fall asleep and continue the dream as soon as possible.

_Harry!_

His eyes came open again. It wasn't a dream!  _Harry...Harry...Harry!_ The voice was all around him, enchanting his mind as he reveled in its beauty. The mystery voice, the disembodied whispers from his dreams, they were real! He felt so giddy that he nearly laughed out loud. He then decided against making too much noise, because he might wake the other boys in his dormitory, and then they would want to hear the voice, too. Harry didn't want to share this wonder with anyone...except maybe his best friends, Ron and Hermione. He nodded to himself. They should be able to hear this! Then they could all be together and listen to the beautiful voice together.

_Harry, please, can you hear me? Please, I need your help!_

Harry jumped. This was the first time the voice had said anything other than his name. What could this mean? Contemplating her words, Harry decided that the mysterious woman must be in danger. Of course! She was in trouble and using magic to connect to Harry. She needed him, the great and noble Harry Potter, to save her! How quaint. Harry felt excited at such a prospect. If the voice was this spellbinding, imagine the otherworldly beauty of the woman it belonged to! This could be the voice of Aphrodite herself!

"Where are you?" he whispered into the darkness, hoping she would answer.

_"Harry? I am on the seventh floor. I am in grave danger. Please, you are the only one who can save me! I need you, Harry..._

Her voice faded away. Harry got out of bed and jammed his glasses onto his face, not even bothering to put his robes on over his pajamas. He started out the door, but then decided that he should bring Ron and Hermione along, just in case. He trotted to Ron's four-poster, pulled back the curtains, and shook his ginger-haired best friend none too gently. "Ron! Wake up.  _Wake up!_ "

Ron blearily awoke, rubbing his eyes. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like either "What time is it?" or "Would you sit on me?" Irritated, Harry grasped his upper arm and all but dragged Ron out of bed.

"Ron, we have to go...someone is in trouble on the seventh floor!"

"How do you know?" Ron protested, glancing longingly at his nice, soft, warm bed.

"She called out to me. I have to save her! Ron, let's get Hermione and go!"

"Harry, it's two in the morning. We at least need to get the invisibility cloak before we head out. If Filch catches us 'skulking' around the castle again, he's sure to blow his top. And I do NOT want to get expelled, or, worse, get detention helping Slughorn wash his rat tail jars!"

"No time," Harry said, thinking about his invisibility cloak handed down to him from his father, tucked away neatly at the very bottom of his trunk. "We have to go, NOW!" Before Ron could protest, Harry had his best friend in a vice grip and was dragging him down the stairs to the common room. "We'll just have to be extra careful, that's all."

Hermione was asleep on the couch in front of the dying fire, several text books and homework assignments strewn about her peaceful form. After waking her and explaining the situation, Harry insisted that they all head to the seventh floor now.

"Harry, I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but Ron is right."

Ron snorted. "How'd those words taste coming out of your mouth?"

Hermione made a face. "Like Skele-grow mixed with gillyweed juice."

"I know you think I'm crazy, but I promise you, I'm not!" Harry said desperately.  _Harry..._  "Are you  _sure_ you guys can't hear her?"

The shook their heads. "Maybe it's like our second year," Ron put in helpfully. "Maybe your dream girl is a snake and Slughorn is about to catch her for next week's Potions lessons."

Harry glared fiercely at his friends. "Make fun if you want," he said bitterly. "But I don't have time for this any longer. I'm going to help her, with or without you!" And he slipped out of the portrait hole of the common room.

He had only taken a few steps when Ron and Hermione caught up to him. "We're sorry, Harry," Hermione said sincerely, her eyes worriedly darting around them at the eerie castle walls. "Even if we don't hear her, we are still your best friends, and we have to stick together."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Now let's go save your snake friend!"

Harry didn't even take the time to glare at Ron's remark, but instead lit the tip of his wand and headed down the corridor, his two loyal companions right behind him.

_Harry...Harry..._

The calls became more frantic the closer he came to the seventh floor. When they arrived, they stopped. Harry looked around. No one was there.

"Meow."

Except for Mrs. Norris, Filch's scrawny, tattle-tale of a feline. Her lamp-like eyes observed the three Gryffindors for a long moment before turning and stalking off down the hallway, her scruffy tail straight up, undoubtedly on her way to bring Filch back here to catch them.

Ron swore. "Harry, now look what you've done! Your mystery girl is not here and now Filch is going to catch us! Merlin's beard, I should've stayed behind. Why did I ever let you talk me into this?"

"Because we're his friends," said Hermione, a panicked expression on her face as well. What if she got academic probation for being out so late yet again? This, in Hermione's mind, was a fate worse than death.

"Where are you?" Harry whispered, crestfallen. Had it all been an illusion?  _Was_ he crazy? All he knew was that with all of his heart, he wanted the voice to belong to a real person.

Hermione let out a little gasp. "We're on the seventh floor!" she said excitedly, rushing off down the corridor.

Ron followed, dragging a heartsick Harry along behind him. Hermione stopped in a hallway with a tapestry on one wall and nothing but bare, blank wall on the other side.

They heard a soft voice coming from the hallway they had just been in.  _"Well, now, my sweet, do we have some bad students out of bed? If it's Potter and his friends, we'll have them this time, won't we, Mrs. Norris? We'll make sure they're expelled this time."_

Ron looked at Hermione desperately, who was pacing up and down the hallway past the empty bit of wall. "Hermione,  _what_  the bloody-" Ron stopped as he realized what was going on. "The Room of Requirement," he breathed. "Hermione, you're brilliant!"

Hermione had been muttering under her breath, "We need to a place to hide from Filch that he won't be able to get to."

The Room of Requirement was an unplottable room that would appear when someone needed it the most, if the said person walked back and forth in front of it three times, saying exactly what they needed the room for. As long as other people did not know about the existence of the room, or, if they did, they did not know what the room was being used for, they would not have access to the room until the others were done with it. The three students could only hope that Filch did not realize how close to the room they were, had forgotten where the room was at, or could not remember how the room worked.

After the third time Hermione walked by the door that didn't exist, a large, heavy door appeared where, just a few seconds ago, the wall had been blank. "Quick, inside!" she hissed. Ron had to grab Harry's arm and yank him through the door, as the young man was still gazing around the corridor wistfully, looking for any sign of the musical voice that had led him here in the first place. Ron shut the door behind them.

* * *

On the other side of the wall, the door vanished, leaving a very annoyed Filch and an indignant Mrs. Norris staring grumpily at a blank wall and no students to punish. He glared at his cat. "Now, sweet, don't tell me you are getting to old to know what is real and what isn't...I can't afford to be led on any wild hippogriff chases..."

Mrs. Norris stubbornly stayed in the same spot, staring resolutely at the bare wall. "Meow," she said.

Filch shuffled back to the feline and nudged her with his foot. "Come on, my sweet. We'll go see if Peeves is up to anything..."

Still, the cat refused to move. Filch looked from the cat to the wall and back to the cat again. His eyes lit up and he chuckled excitedly. "Of course, my sweet, this is the seventh floor-the Room of Requirement, where those brats in Dumbledore's Army held their secret meetings last year when my sweet angel Dolores Umbridge was here..." (Here he sighed rather wistfully and Mrs. Norris made an impatient noise halfway between a growl and a purr.) "Yes," he said matter-of-factly, "Potter and his friends are using the Room of Requirement to hide from me."

The door suddenly appeared, now that Filch knew where it was at what it was being used for. Grinning excitedly, he threw open the door and burst inside, Mrs. Norris on his heels. He stood there, stunned. The Room of Requirement was now serving as a secret hideout that looked more like a fort than anything. Apparently the Potter boy and his friends were prepared to camp out here all night to avoid him if they had to. There was only one thing missing.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger were nowhere to be found. The room was empty...and worse, there was no evidence in said room to link them to being the ones up and about at all hours of the night. Angry with himself and even more livid at Potter, Filch ordered Mrs. Norris to come with him and he shuffled down the hall, going back to his early-morning skulking.

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had looked around the comfy room in appreciation. "Wow, this room thinks of  _everything_!" Ron crowed, looking at the plushy seats, snack foods, and magazines. "We could live in here!"

Hermione frowned at him. "Unfortunately, that's not possible," she said sarcastically. "Harry, Ron, we've been running around the castle for nearly an hour now. It won't be too much longer until dawn and then it won't matter if we get caught out of bed, because they'll find out we weren't in bed and we'll get in trouble anyway! Don't you see? We have to wait a few more minutes until we can be sure that Filch and that cat are gone, and then we have to get back to Gryffindor Tower-fast!" She glanced over at Harry, who was looking a bit confused. "Harry? Are you okay?"

He shook his head, his messy black hair flopping with the rhythm of his head. "I'm just kind of dazed, that's all. I don't know what I was thinking...I heard some disembodied voice and I decided to take its advice and nearly get us expelled? Am I really that mad?"

Ron shrugged, selecting a chocolate frog from a pile of snack food and popping it into his mouth. "I dunno, mate," he said through a mouthful of wriggling frog, "you sure sounded a bit loony to me."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks, Ron."

Hermione looked at Harry closely. "I don't know who you heard, Harry, or how it took hold of you so quickly and powerfully, but I have a feeling that there's magic-strong magic-involved. I really think we need to talk to Dumbledore tomorrow. We don't necessarily have to tell him about sneaking out of the dormitory...but he needs to know that you're hearing voices in the walls again. Ron could have been right, you know...there could be some sort of serpentine creature lurking about in the school."

Harry nodded slowly. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said dryly, clearly remembering the Basilisk he had fought in his second year at Hogwarts in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Well, we'll go talk to Dumbledore in the morning," Hermione confirmed. She put her ear to the door. "I don't hear anything, so I think it's safe to go out."

She slowly opened the door and gasped. "Harry, Ron-we aren't in the same corridor as before...we're in another part of the castle...a part we've never been to before."

Harry pushed past her. The hallway was dark and imposing, just like the ones at Hogwarts but this was definitely not a familiar place for Harry. "This is weird," he said. "I've never seen a place like this on the Marauder's Map."

At that moment, a pretty, dark-skinned girl with curly black hair, brown eyes, and a small vial of liquid rounded the corner and came walking down the hall. The three students had no way of hiding from her, so they hoped that, whoever she was, she wouldn't give them away to Filch. She stopped when she saw them, a curious gleam in her eyes. "Do I know you?" she asked, taking in their pajamas and bedraggled appearance. She was wearing a yellow ankle-length dress with an apron on top.

Ron spoke up first. "I was going to ask you the same thing," he said.

Hermione intervened. "What he meant is-we've never been to this part of the castle before. And I'm pretty sure we've never seen you...are you a student here?"

The girl looked at the young woman like she was crazy. "A student? No, I'm not studying anywhere. I'm Lady Morgana's hand maiden; I was just bringing her her sleeping draft..."

"Wait," said Harry slowly. "Where exactly are we?"

Ron answered before the strange woman could answer. "We're in Hogwarts of course!"

The girl looked at Ron with an odd expression. "Hogwarts? What an odd name for a kingdom. Don't you know? You're in Camelot of course."

They stared at her dumbly. "Are you alright? You seem to be a bit confused. How did you get here? Do you need me to take you to the court physician? He may be able to do something to help ease your minds and figure out what's going on. You look like you've had a rough time of it," she added sympathetically.

Meekly, Hermione looked around the cavernous hall and whispered, "Please?"

The woman smiled. "My name's Guinevere, but most people call me Gwen. Let me take this sleeping draft to my lady and then I'll take you to Gaius. Maybe he'll be able to sort you out."

* * *

Meanwhile, Lord Voldemort was awakening from a rather vivid dream. His painfully red eyes opened widely and he smiled wickedly. Stroking the head of the giant snake beside him, he whispered, "It is time, Naigini, it is time."


	3. Merlin's Beard

Gwen smiled uncertainly at the three strangers as she hurried down the hall and disappeared around the corner, presumably to give the sleeping draft to the girl named Morgana. Harry turned to his friends, uncertainty plaguing his features. "Hermione, what's going on?" he asked urgently. "Why aren't we in Hogwarts anymore?"

Hermione looked baffled, which was something that did not happen often. Ron smirked, savoring the moment. "I don't know," she said, looking both scared and amazed at the same time. "Camelot..." she breathed. Her eyes lit up. "Do you two realize that this...this is the same castle in which King Arthur ruled? Where the greatest wizard of all time stayed when he was not in Avalon?"

"Erm...those are just stories, though, right?" Harry asked timidly. "Legends. I mean, even Muggles have their versions of the King Arthur stories."

Ron snorted. "Legends? Bloody hell, Harry, don't you know? Arthur and Merlin were no more fictional characters than you and I are!" He laughed.

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Although the Muggles don't know the half of it. When he wasn't advising the king or keeping peace in Avalon, Merlin did  _so_  many things to help the wizarding community! I mean, he was the first one to propose everything that Dumbledore believes in."

Before Harry could answer, Gwen reappeared. She smiled at the three. "If you'll follow me, I'll take you to our physician. He's really quite a lovely man, despite his rough exterior." As she walked, the Hogwarts students followed. "If you don't mind me saying, you three look like you just woke up." She paused, then quickly amended, "Not that it's a bad thing. I just meant you look tired, is all." She glanced back at them. "So who exactly are you?"

"I'm Hermione Granger. This is Ron Weasley and Harry Potter."

Gwen nodded politely. "Well it's nice to meet you. Although I am still confused to how you got here, and where you came from."

"So are we," Harry muttered wearily under his breath.

"Here we are," Gwen said, leading the small group up a small staircase with a sign on the wall that said "Court Physician." She stopped at a heavy wooden door and knocked. The door opened and a very old, very stern man glared out at them. The court physician was a stooped man wearing long, earth colored robes. His face was heavily wrinkled and his dark eyes sat beneath thick, critical eyebrows. Shoulder-length silver hair lined his weathered face and his mouth was a somewhat uneven line.

Seeing Gwen, the man's eyes lit up and he smiled, but Harry wasn't quite sure if this made him less intimidating or not. Judging by the way Hermione was clinging to his upper arm, he figured that she felt about the same. Ron's eyes just roved about warily, still in awe that he was in Camelot. "Ah, Guinevere, I thought I just sent you off with the Lady Morgana's sleeping draft. Is she alright?"

Gwen nodded. "She's fine, Gaius." Gaius's eyes traveled behind her to the three pajama-clad, messy-haired, bare-footed teenagers. Gwen stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling, then glanced back and remember why she was here. "Ah, yes, this is Hermione, Ron, and Harry. I...met them...sort of...a few moments ago, on my way to my lady's chambers. They seem to be a bit confused and lost. I thought that you might be able to help them."

Gaius looked the three over, not looking impressed. "I wasn't aware that the King had guests staying in the castle," he said suspiciously.

Hermione shrank back under his steady, somewhat unnerving gaze, but managed to squeak out, "We're not guests of the King, exactly."

"Then who  _exactly_ are you?"

Hermione looked at Ron, who was now looking very uncomfortable.

Ron opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, and said, "Tell him who we are, Harry."

Glaring at his best friend, Harry began, "Well, we..." He shook his hair out of his eyes nervously.

Gaius held up his hand and Harry stopped talking. Walking slowly forward, he gently brushed Harry's bangs aside and stared at his scar. "You have been touched by terrible, evil magic," he said, his eyes wide. "How did you survive such an attack?"

"Oh, erm, well..."

"Fear not, my boy. I understand. You have come to Camelot for safety, protection. I am sure the King will hear your appeals and do everything in his power to find and execute the sorcerer who has harmed you. If you were looking for his throne room, you were going in the wrong direction, but I'm afraid he has business to attend to tonight. I will have to request an audience with him tomorrow. Until then, I assume you have no place to sleep?"

Hermione, gladly taking up the explanation that the physician had so helpfully provided, answered gravely, "No, I'm afraid not. When the sorcerer attacked our village, and nearly killed my friend, we fled toward Camelot. We were in such a rush to find and appeal to the King, to get to safety, that we got lost. I am so tired, I barely remembered getting here at all."

Ron and Harry exchanged appreciative glances at their friend's impromptu performance.

"Oh, you poor things," Gwen said soothingly.

"Yeah," Ron said. He puffed out his chest a bit. "But I did manage to do some serious damage to the creep before we got out of there."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

Ron casually stretched. "Yeah, but it was nothing. Really."

Gwen smiled patronizingly. "Of course. Gaius, if you're not needing anything else, I'll be getting home. It's becoming late and my father will worry if I don't get back soon." She nodded at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "It was nice meeting you."

After she had departed, Gaius looked at his guests. "Well? Come on in," he said, striding into his quarters. The three jumped and hastened to follow his orders. They had decided that while Gaius didn't seem to be a bad person, he was someone they did not want to cross.

The room was dim and cluttered with books, papers, and scrolls. A few candles offered light to the room, causing eerie shadows to dance on the walls and ceiling. There were some odd objects (a ferocious mask and some sort of animal skull being the most mundane) lying on the table in the middle of the room, a sick bed, some cabinets, and a small but quaint cooking area. There was another room, set apart from the main area, where Harry assumed Gaius's bedroom was at. There were a small set of stairs at the back of the room, leading to a small but sturdy looking door. Although some would classify the room as a mess, Harry liked it. It's simple charm and quaint, cluttered aura reminded him fondly of the Burrow.

The three stood awkwardly, not really sure what they should do or say, or whether they should do or say  _anything_. All the three really wanted was to be alone so that they could figure out what was going on, how they got here, why they were here, and how they were going to get back. Everything had happened so quickly that they weren't exactly sure what had happened. They needed to sort this...whatever  _this_  was...out before anything weirder happened.

Gaius broke the silence by saying, "Go on and sit if you'd like. I've not got much to offer to eat, but I will put some tea on."

Hermione stood up. "Oh, no, you've done more than enough to help us already. We don't need anything."

Ron and Harry glared at her but she ignored them. Gaius nodded. "As you wish. I apologize that I do not have any extra beds to offer. I will go and see if I can find some blankets to make a pallet or two. Tomorrow, after your audience with the King, your accommodations should improve considerably if he decides to assist you. And if my ward should return before I get back, make sure you tell him to wash up before he goes to bed. I saw him mucking the stables today."

"Thank you very much," Hermione said. Harry echoed her thanks, but Ron was looking forlornly at an empty tea kettle on the table, too dejected to offer an acceptable thanks.

Gaius grunted and left the room. "Finally!" Harry said. "Hermione, Ron...we need to figure out-" Before he could finish his sentence, the door opened yet again. Ron cursed silently under his breath at being interrupted again.

They turned around, expecting to see Gaius, but instead, the newcomer was a tall, gangly young man who looked a few years older than themselves. His dark hair was messy and his face was smudged. He smelled strangely of horses. He had intense blue eyes and wore a red long-sleeved shirt with a brown jacket and an old, blue neckerchief. His face was narrow but handsome and he was pale, with prominent ears that nearly rivaled Ron's. He was just as skinny, if not a bit skinnier, than Harry, which led Harry to wonder if he had once had an evil aunt and uncle who had underfed him, as well.

The boy looked at the three strangers, as if wondering what they were doing in his house. Realizing that he must be the ward Gaius had spoken of, Hermione quickly said what she had been told. "You need to take a bath," she said.

Gaius's ward stared at her for a long moment, his ears going pink.

Realizing how she had sounded, Hermione quickly tried to make amends. "Oh, no, I didn't mean that...it's just, Gaius, he said that if his ward were to return before he got back, to remind him that he needed to wash up before he went to bed. I promise, it's all I meant."

Still staring at her, the boy finally found his voice. "And who exactly are you?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione said, sticking her hand out promptly. "And this is Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Gaius's ward simply stared at her outstretched hand. "Eh, I'd rather not," he said, locking eyes with her. "I'd rather not get my stench on you, if it's all the same."

Hermione looked absolutely horrified. "I never meant-" It was then that she realized the boy standing opposite her was smiling. Ron and Harry burst out laughing at the look on Hermione's face.

"I was kidding," he said.

Ron chuckled. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, can't you take a joke?"

The ward was no longer smiling _._ He was staring at them, an offended look taking over his face. "In the name of my  _what_?" he stuttered. "I don't have a beard!"

"What do you mean, your what?" Ron asked, laughing. "It's not as if you're Merlin or anything. Right?"

Harry looked decidedly uncomfortable as he said through his teeth, "We  _are_ in Camelot..."

Ron looked into the taken-aback boy's eyes, anxiety creeping onto his features. He pointed weakly at the Gaius's ward. "You mean he?-and I?-" He groaned. "No way."

The awkward silence was broken as Gaius came through the door with several blankets. He handed them to Ron, who took them wordlessly, still staring stupidly at Merlin. Harry looked uncomfortable. Hermione was staring at Merlin as if she were going to faint. Gaius frowned at the scene. "I see you have met." No one said anything. "Merlin, you smell like the stables, go clean up."

At his words, Hermione let out a small squeak. Gaius raised an eyebrow. "What in the name of all that is good is going on here?" he asked.

Merlin shook his head, a lopsided smile playing at his full lips. "I honestly have no idea," he said, "but I think I'm going to go wash up-" he winked at Hermione, "-and shave-" he gave Ron a strange look, "and then I am going to bed in the hopes that this will all make sense in the morning." He went up the stairs and through the door at the back of the room.

Gaius smiled slightly. "I don't believe I am even going to ask."

Ron looked slightly dazed. "Yeah...it's probably best if you don't."


	4. The Stocks

When Gaius and Merlin had retired to their respective rooms, Hermione spun on Harry and Ron. "Can you believe this is happening?" she whispered, her voice squeaking in excitement. "I mean, this is  _really_  happening?"

Ron shook his head. "This is bloody crazy, that's what this is. I don't understand."

"Who cares?" Hermione gasped, clinging to his arm. "Did you  _hear_ who that boy is? Did you!"

Harry smiled knowingly as he finally deciphered the look on Hermione's face; the gleam in her brown eyes. She was starstruck, plain and simple. Harry remembered the last time she had been flustered over a famous wizard. It was when they were in their second year and Gilderoy Lockhart had come to teach at Hogwarts. Hermione had been so smitten that she had slept with the get-well card he had given her under her pillow. Of course, Lockhart had turned out to be a phony and Hermione had quickly gotten over him. But this...This was a different story entirely.

 _This_ was Merlin, a warlock so legendary that he was known by the wizards and Muggles alike. From the dreamy look on his best friend's face, Harry realized that Hermione must be in a mild state of shock. Ron had clearly noticed, too, but he didn't look very happy about this development.

"So what?" Ron griped. "We can't  _stay_ here."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "And why not?"

Ron fumbled for words, staring intently at his shoes, the ceiling, and the cluttered tables. He seemed to be avoiding Hermione's gaze. "Well, er..."

"Ron, don't you get it?" Hermione breathed, her eyes shining with euphoria. "We have been given a remarkable opportunity! For whatever reason, we have been sent to Camelot right at the time that Merlin -  _Merlin_  - is here! It can't be a coincidence! Think of all the things we could learn from him. Everything we can experience. This is a place only heard about in legends and Muggle fairy tales." She sighted wistfully. "From the time I was a little girl and my mother and father told me fairy tales about King Arthur, the knights of the round table, the quest for the Holy Grail, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and best of all, the greatest sorcerer of all time...I have always dreamed of going to Camelot and becoming part of that fairy tale."

Ron frowned. "So what you're saying is...you've  _always_ been a geek?"

Hermione may have been in a daze, but she was alert enough to give Ron a sharp jab in the arm. "Oi!" Ron yelped quietly. "That hurt."

Harry cut in before their squabble went any further. "Hermione, I know what you mean," he said. "It's really incredible. But I think there's more to this than meets the eye. I may not know all that much about the wizarding world, even after nearly six years at Hogwarts, but I have never heard of time travel of this magnitude. Hermione, we are back in the fourteenth century at least! This wasn't an accident."

"Don't you think I haven't already considered that?" Hermione said touchily. "But Harry, even if, for some strange reason, the person who sent us here was of malicious intent, can you honestly suggest that we try to find our way back without doing  _anything_? Without exploring the most legendary kingdom in history? Without talking to the man that started everything that Dumbledore - Hogwarts - stands for? The greatest wizard of all time? Think of all we can learn from him, all the adventures we could have here."

"Hermione, you're head's not on straight," Ron grumbled. "You heard Gaius - we are going to talk to the king tomorrow and he's going to try and hunt down and then execute whatever sorcerer attacked our 'village.' Obviously these blokes don't exactly trust people with magic."

"If Merlin's here, then we should be fine," Hermione said stubbornly.

"I don't think you should put too much trust in him," Ron argued flatly. "He's still just a kid - not much older than us. All the stories we've heard of Merlin portray him as an old Dumbledore-like fellow with a long white beard and a pointy hat!"

Hermione's face reddened. "Ron, you're just being stupid!"

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry stopped him. "Stop it," he said gruffly. "This is getting us nowhere. I think we all agree that this is very strange and we should be cautious. But Ron, you've got to realize - we don't know how we got here, let alone how to get back. Until we figure out why we were brought here and how to return, we are going to be stuck here. That means we are going to have to keep our heads down and try to blend in. Obviously, we're here for a reason...I just don't know if it's a good or bad one yet."

Ron sighed. "I hate it when you make sense," he mumbled. "Fine. But I still say we need to be wary of this Merlin character. He looks shifty, like he's hiding something."

Hermione snorted. " _You_ look shifty, Ronald!"

Ron exchanged glances with Harry. "What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

* * *

Merlin woke up to Gaius coming into his room. "Merlin! Wake up, I need you to run some errands for me before you go to Arthur."

Merlin groaned and ran a long-fingered hand through his mussed black hair. "Gaius...just gimme..."

" _Now_ , Merlin," his guardian said, fixing Merlin with a stern gaze that meant there was no room for argument.

Merlin rolled blearily out of bed, exhausted from being out so late last night. He had had more chores than usual, and the stables were unusually nasty, so he had been out late finishing them up. He groped around in his cabinet for something to wear, got dressed, and splashed his face. His smooth, hairless face. He started, remembering the odd strangers who had appeared last night, one of which had told him he needed to bathe and the other saying something about a beard. He frowned, wondering if they were still here.

He hurried down the small set of stairs and saw the three teenagers sitting around the table with Gaius. The girl, whose bushy brown hair was combed and sleeked back, averted her eyes from his and studied her fingernails. The red-headed boy, the one who had said that about the beard, was glaring gloomily at a knot on the table, and the black-haired, green eyed boy was tapping his fingers restlessly while gazing back and forth between his two companions. When he saw Merlin descending the stairs, he was the only one who smiled. "Hullo," he said.

Merlin smiled at his easy going manner, all the while wondering where that strange, lightening shaped scar on his forehead had come from. Gaius looked handed Merlin a piece of bread and said, "Hurry and eat. I need you to find Gwen and ask her if she has any dresses that Hermione can wear. They have an audience with the king later today and she can hardly be seen in...whatever it is she's wearing. No offense," he added quickly. "I am not sure what we will do about Harry and Ron, however."

Merlin gave an easy grin. "Knowing Gwen, she'll be able to put something together. Anything else?"

Gaius shook his head. "Just hurry. I don't think the prince will be too delighted if you are late...again."

* * *

"I'm sorry I'm late Sire," Merlin said weakly, giving the crown prince of Camelot his most charming grin. "I was running an errand for Gaius."

Arthur shook his head. "It's always something, isn't it,  _Mer_ lin? This is the fifth time this month!" He grinned deviously. "You're looking a bit peaky, Merlin. Have you been eating your vegetables?"

Merlin grimaced, already anticipating the rotting vegetables smacking him in the face. "The stocks,  _Sire_?" he asked with a bit too much sarcasm in his tone.

Arthur smiled. "Yes, Merlin, the stocks."

"You're such a prat, you know that don't you?" Merlin griped as Arthur marched him out the door.

"Only to you, Merlin," Arthur said, sounding quite pleased with himself. "Only to you."

* * *

_"It is nearly time," she says, her intense eyes searching his soulless red ones. "They have been delivered, now all we must do is prepare."_

_He nods slowly. "Of course," he says. "I want to be certain you understand our agreement - Harry Potter is not to be killed by the likes of you. You have to but prepare him for me to do him in. You know what this entails. If he dies before I have my way with him, I will be greatly displeased."_

_Her gaze attempts to draw him in, to lure him into security. He will not allow this to happen. She smirks. "Of course. And if Merlin is killed by you, '_ My Lord _,' then I shall be forced to kill you myself."_

_He chuckles, a soft, evil laugh. "Do not overestimate your power, Nimueh. That is almost as dangerous as underestimating mine."_

_Nimueh smiles widely. "And you should remember the same." She glances away. "My time in your dream draws to an end. When I am ready for our plans to unfold, I will summon you to Camelot. Until then, you have nothing to worry about."_

_He nods. "Make it fast. I have no time for your games, Nimueh. I have much to do after Potter is dead."_

_"You cannot rush these things, Voldemort," Nimueh insists. "I will summon you when it is ready."_

_She slowly fades away, the folds of her dress billowing around her, turning to smoke. Her eyes are the last thing to disappear, hanging grotesquely in the air for the shortest of moments before eerily receding into the mist._

* * *

Merlin stood, bent over and sore, his wrists clasped in iron manacles and head and arms trapped in the wooden stocks. Sweat beaded his brow and the stench of rotting vegetables stung is nostrils.  _Splat!_ A tomato hit him square in the middle of his forehead.

Being in the stocks was not all that bad; it was actually a bit of fun to see how well he could dodge the vegetables being flung at his face. He had made a game of it. The worst part of it all was the sun bearing down on him, making him sweat and his pale skin burn, and the aching that started in his back and legs after the first thirty minutes or so. He had no idea how long Arthur planned on keeping him in the stocks today. Probably not long as Merlin had done nothing but come in late (again) and smart off to the prince a bit. Merlin figured Arthur had put him in the stocks for more of a reminder of who was boss. He didn't mean anything by it; it was just how Arthur dealt with things. Still, Merlin thought, shifting his position slightly, it would be nice if Arthur could assert his authority some other way for a change.

"Merlin? Is that you?"

He craned his neck to see the three strangers, Harry, Ron, and Hermione standing to the side of the stocks, well out of the way of the flying veggies. Harry had been the one to speak; he seemed quite surprised to see Merlin chained up in the middle of the square, being pelted with various stinky foods. Merlin noticed that the three had changed from their attire into what he had fetched from Gwen earlier. Hermione was wearing a simple lavender dress with a modest cut and elbow-length sleeves. Harry and Ron were wearing brown pants and Harry wore a red tunic that was a bit large on him and Ron wore a blue one. Gwen had found these in her father's closet, clothes that he used to wear but could no longer fit into. Merlin thought of the irony - the clothes they were wearing were very much the reason he had been late (it had taken Gwen a while to get everything together) and was now in the stocks.

"Er, what are you doing over there, mate?" Harry asked, barely containing a laugh as a mushy head of lettuce slammed into the wood beside Merlin, splattering his face with putrid lettuce juice.

Merlin smiled. "Eh, just enjoying the sunlight," he joked. He met Hermione's eyes. For a moment she looked startled, then she blushed and glanced away. Ron smirked.

"What did you do?"

"I was late for work. I'm the prince's man servant," he explained.

Hermione stared. "You're a servant? But-"

"Yeah, I know it's hard to believe, right?" Merlin said in mock seriousness. "I mean, with someone with the build of a knight..." He chuckled.

Ron snorted. "So if he treats you so badly, then why don't you just zap the bloke and be done with it?"

Merlin looked confused. "Zap him? What - what are you going on about?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "As if you don't know."

"Ah - okay," the boy said hesitantly, not sure why Ron was being so short with him. He shook his head slightly as if to rid himself of the thought. A chunk of cabbage landed in his hair. "I thought you three had an audience with King Uther."

"It's not until later," Harry explained, then glanced over at Hermione. Her eyes were wide and she looked terrified.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

"Uther? Uther Pendragon is the king of Camelot?"

Merlin stared at her. "Of course. Who else...?" The question trailed off into a concerned expression when she looked as if she were struggling to breathe.

"So that means you are Prince Arthur's man servant, then," Ron said slowly, a bit of respect creeping into his eyes. "Hermione, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Hermione shook her head. "We need to go. Harry, Ronald, I need to talk to you." She nodded in goodbye to Merlin, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks. "It was nice talking to you."

Merlin looked on in confusion, having no idea what was going on.

* * *

"Hermione, what in the name of Merlin's saggy left-" Ron began, but Hermione interrupted him.

"This is not good. Ron, don't you remember the stories of Uther Pendragon? Before Arthur became king and united the land of Albion with Merlin, Uther was king. He hated magic, vowing to destroy anyone that possessed it." Her eyes held a kind of fear Ron and Harry had never seen before. "Do you realize how much danger we are in? If Uther catches us, he will kill us. And then we won't exist in the future. Which means Harry will have never been born. Which means-"

"-Voldemort will have never been stopped all those years ago," Harry breathed. He glanced between his two best friends. "We have to get back."

"But how?" Ron wanted to know.

"Merlin," Hermione answered. "He will be the most powerful wizard of all time. He is our only hope."

Ron grunted. "Doubt it. Hermione, this is obviously not the same Merlin we've heard stories about. The Merlin we know was powerful, proud. He would never stoop so low as to be a servant. He could have had Arthur trembling at his feet if he wanted."

Hermione glowered at him. "Ronald, you don't get it, do you? Merlin's destiny is to help Arthur as he becomes the greatest king Camelot has ever known! He can't do that if he gets killed by Uther. So he protects Arthur from a distance, posing as his servant."

Ron shook his head. "I'm still not convinced. In all the stories Mum and Dad told me, Merlin was an old man when he met Arthur. That guy is just a few years older than us."

"It  _is_ him," Hermione insisted. "I can feel it. I can tell. It's almost as if his magic is so strong that I can sense it."

Harry nodded. "I felt it too."

"So it's decided then," Hermione said briskly. "After our audience with Uther - by the way, let  _me_  do all the talking - we will find Merlin and ask for his help."

" _Mer_ lin? Why on earth would you need help from  _Mer_ lin?" a confident, perhaps a bit cocky, voice asked.

The speaker was a tall, broad, muscular young man with blonde hair, a prominent nose, and strong chin. His eyes were light blue and he moved and spoke like he was used to being obeyed and respected. His eyes fell on Hermione, who was looking a bit frightened.

"Who are you?" Ron asked bluntly. The man turned to him, an eyebrow raised.

"Since you obviously aren't from around here, I'll let your disrespect slide," he said, turning his gaze back on Hermione. Harry glanced at Ron, whose face was turning pink at the sight of this incredibly handsome man paying so much attention to Hermione. "I," he said regally, taking Hermione's hand, "am Arthur Pendragon, crowned prince of Camelot." He slowly brought Hermione's hand to his lips. "I am  _most_ pleased to make your acquaintance."


	5. Prince Arthur

Hermione blushed as Arthur released her hand. "Your highness," she said, making a clumsy attempt at curtseying. She shot an annoyed look at Ron and Harry who got the hint and inclined their heads slightly in respect. Ron's face was still red, and by the glow in his eyes, he didn't seem to be too happy to show Prince Arthur any respect at the moment.

"Please, call me Arthur," he said, winking at Hermione. "So you are the three strangers my father was talking about? You just barely escaped from your village when it was attacked by an evil sorcerer, correct?"

Harry nodded, but Arthur wasn't looking at him. The prince was still looking at Hermione, who answered with a meek, "Mmm."

"Well, I'm glad you got to safety," he said sincerely. He stepped back and eyed each of the three students in turn. "You never answered my question," he pointed out. "Why on earth would you think  _Mer_ lin would be able to help you out? He's terrible with a sword, always running late, and I swear, the man can be an  _idiot_!"

Hermione frowned slightly. "Forgive me, Sire, but that's not very nice."

Ron choked on a chuckle at the incredulous look on Arthur's face. "Why do you care?" Arthur asked slowly. "He's just my servant."

Meeting his eyes, Hermione answered, "And he always will be, if that is how you keep looking at him, Sire. He may be a servant, but I've met him, and I've seen him for what he is - a  _person_. I believe that given the chance, Merlin could be more than you ever imagined. He has great potential."

Arthur stared at Hermione, a mixture of shock and admiration on his handsome face. "You are different than most girls, Hermione Granger," he said softly. "Although I feel obliged to inform you that I know Merlin, quite well. And - if he ever finds out about this, I'll kill him - I consider him to be the best friend I've ever had. He is always there for me, and treats me like a person instead of a prince." He smiled softly as he thought about the servant he had grown so fond of.

Softly, Hermione spoke up, "Perhaps you should try the same with him."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "Please, Hermione, I could hardly do that. No matter how he treats me, I  _am_ still the crowned prince and he  _is_ just my servant. I put him in the stocks this morning because sometimes he gets too comfortable - he needs to remember who is in charge here. We technically can't be friends. Propriety, you know."

Fearing where the conversation might be headed, Harry quickly intervened as Hermione opened her mouth haughtily. "I'm sorry, Sire," he said. "We are from another village where everyone is pretty much treated as equals. Hermione is just having trouble comprehending the nature of your monarchy."

Hermione was going to retort, then realized what Harry had said and stared at him. "Since when did you get so fluent?" she asked. Harry just grinned.

Arthur glanced between the two, not even bothering to take a look at Ron, who was watching the scene with mild interest. "Either way, whatever it is you were hoping Merlin could help you with, I am sure that I would be of much greater assistance."

Ron smirked. "I'm sure you would."

Eyeing the ginger-haired boy a bit suspiciously, Arthur said, "If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to come to me or one of the guards. I shall talk to my father after your audience with him and ask him to give you rooms in the castle until you are able to return to your village. And if you need any work done, I'm sure Merlin will help you out with that." He raised an eyebrow at Hermione and smiled. Hermione did not look amused.

"No, thank you," she said curtly. "The poor boy has enough on his plate already without having to do chores that any normal person would be capable of doing themselves!" She paused, and for good measure, added, "Sire."

Arthur stared at her for a long moment, then grinned widely. He chuckled. "I like you, Hermione Granger." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I have to go train my knights, but I trust I will see you again?" he asked.

Hermione humphed and responded, "If I must."

Arthur's grin faltered a bit and he slowly turned away and disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

"What a self-centered, egotistical, narcissistic, pompous _prat_!" Hermione fumed after a few minutes of awkward silence after Arthur had left.

"That's what I said," a joking voice said from behind her. She, along with Ron and Harry, spun to face the speaker. Merlin was standing there, tomato pips stuck in his hair and vegetable and fruit juice staining his face. Half of a tomato peel sat on his head.

Ron and Harry quickly looked away in order to hide their amusement at such a pitiful sight. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Merlin! Where did you come from?" she asked, blushing. "I mean, how did you get out of the stocks?"

Merlin shrugged. "It was odd. Arthur came and let me out, muttering something about what a mystery girls are." He glanced at Hermione, who was blushing even more fiercely now. "You?" he said. She nodded.

"It was great," Harry put in. "She told him off!"

Ron couldn't help but crack a grin at the memory of it all. "It  _was_  pretty fantastic," he said, a dreamy look coming onto his face. He shot Hermione a look of respect. "Almost as great as the time you floored Malfoy with that punch a few years ago."

Harry and Hermione laughed at the memory.

Although he didn't know who they were talking about, Merlin found himself caught up in their laughter as well. "Well, I should thank you, Hermione. I wasn't exactly looking forward to the rest of the day, getting splattered with fruits and vegetables."

"Eh, Merlin?" Harry said hesitantly, trying to contain his giggles.

"Yeah?"

"You, er, have a little something on your...everywhere," he finished, bursting into laughter. Ron, Hermione, and Merlin all joined in.

Merlin grinned. "I like you, Harry," he chuckled. "That was funny." He sighed and said, "Guess I'd better get back to my room and change before your audience with the king."

Hermione's breath caught. "You'll be there?"

Merlin smiled warmly at her, "Of course. I always have to be there, because Arthur is there. I tend to have to follow him about wherever he goes. Part of the job."

Hermione's eyes widened. If he was going to be with Arthur most of the time, they needed to ask for his help while he was alone. It could be their only chance. "Merlin - wait."

He had been turning to leave, but at the urgency in Hermione's voice he wheeled around. "Yes?"

"We...need to talk to you. Alone. Do you...do you mind if we accompany you back to Gaius's chambers and talk to you once you've changed? It's really very important."

Merlin looked concerned and quickly agreed. "Course you can," he said, gesturing for the trio to follow him.

From the other end of the square, a cloaked figure smiled and studied the scene with intense blue eyes. Soon. Very soon.

* * *

After Merlin had washed up and changed his clothes, he sat around the table with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Gaius was doing his rounds and Merlin wasn't due to help Arthur prepare for the audience for another fifteen minutes. Hermione took a deep breath. Before she could get out what she was trying to say, Ron cut in. "Hermione, I don't think we should do this. It's not safe."

Hermione scoffed. "Ron, this is our only hope!" Merlin's eyes darted between the two.

Harry was the voice of reason. "Why?"

Ron responded, "Because Hermione is so...so...bloody star-struck that she's not even thinking about the implications if she's wrong!"

Merlin chose this moment to speak up. "Look, I don't know how much of a help I can be, but I promise I'll do everything in my power to try." His eyes, filled with honesty, met the eyes of each of his new friends. "I swear you can trust me." He gave a little smile. "I can keep a secret, trust me."

"You see-" Hermione began again, but again, Ron interrupted.

"Hermione, I know you are the smartest girl in school, but what if there is the slightest chance that you're wrong? What if things are not what they seem? If you tell him and he's not who he seems to be...Hermione, we will be as good as dead." He glanced at Harry, who was staring resolutely at a knot in the wooden table. "And you know what will happen if we die, Hermione. I want my family to be safe, I want my friends to be safe, and I want you - er, I mean, you and Harry both, obviously, to be safe."

Merlin glanced at Hermione, who was looking at Ron with watery eyes. "Ron...I understand. I really do. But please, Ron...we  _have_ to take this chance. If we don't, we'll be doomed for sure."

Merlin reached out and patted Ron's arm. "I promise I'm not going to tell anyone you have magic," he said softly, grinning at the expressions on their faces. He leaned back in his chair, looking very relaxed.

"How...?" Harry wanted to know.

"Just like you knew that  _I_ have magic," he said, leaning forward so that they could hear him talking. They exchanged shocked glances. "Look, I'm sure Arthur told you that I'm an idiot, but even I can figure something like this out." Smiling, he explained, "I knew that something magical had entered Camelot yesterday. I could feel it...sense it. I was so tired last night that my brain didn't register that it was you all that I was sensing. But this morning, I realized that it had to have been you three. When you came and talked to me in the stocks, I was even more sure of it, but I decided not to press the issue because I know what it's like bearing that kind of secret."

At this point, Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile. "It must be hard," she said.

Merlin shrugged. "No harder than it is for you, I imagine. I mean, Uther hunts down magic in the outlying villages, so you obviously have been in hiding as well."

Hermione started to reply, then glanced at Ron and Harry. "Should we?" she asked quietly, locking eyes with Ron for a long moment.

Ron nodded. "You were right, Hermione. There's more at stake than just our lives here."

"Why don't you tell me everything?" Merlin said.

Hermione nodded. Just as she was about the speak, the door burst open, and Gaius hurried in. "Merlin," he said, "Arthur is looking for you. Unless you want to be put in the stocks again..."

Merlin dipped his head. "Right." Turning to his new friends, he asked, "Can we finish this later? You'll have to get ready for the audience as well."

Hermione nodded. "Of course." She turned to Ron as Merlin left the chambers. She met his eyes.

"Yeah?" Ron asked warily, not sure if he was about to get told off.

"Do you really think I'm the smartest girl at school?"

Ron laughed. "For a know-it-all."

Hermione punched him in the arm.

* * *

Arthur frowned as he sat in his chambers waiting for Merlin to arrive and help him get ready. He had never met a girl quite like Hermione Granger before, so outspoken against him. Who cared so much about servants. Well, there was Morgana, but she was different. She was like his sister and of noble blood so she had nothing to fear by baiting him. But this Hermione, she had given him an earful. And about Merlin...the idea of him actually being  _friends_ with his servant was ludicrous!

He  _had_ meant what he'd said about Merlin being his best friend; he had never met anyone as friendly and loyal as Merlin before. He made Arthur laugh. They'd had a few "friend" moments...like when Arthur had helped Merlin's hometown of Ealdor face a terrible threat...and the time that Arthur had put his life on the line to obtain a cure to a poison Merlin had drunk to save Arthur...

Yes, Merlin was Arthur's friend. But Arthur couldn't be Merlin's friend. He was a prince, for heaven's sake! Still, he felt bad. Hermione had had a point. He realized that Merlin probably didn't know how Arthur felt about his friendship. How could he? Most of the time, Arthur treated him like cow dung. He sighed, running a hand over his face. Why did life always have to be this complicated? Why couldn't people be friends because of their status? He supposed they  _could_ , but it would be frowned upon.

Merlin burst through the door, actually on time.

Arthur grinned. "Wow," he said.

Merlin was breathless, looking as if he'd just run all the way here - which, Arthur reminded himself, he probably had. "What?"

"You're actually on time," Arthur said, smirking.

Merlin shrugged, staring at the ground. "Didn't exactly want a repeat of this morning," he said, trying his hardest to keep the hurt out of his voice.

Arthur felt guilt tug his heart. "Come on, Merlin, you're not upset about that, are you? It was just a bit of fun."

Merlin glanced at Arthur as he shuffled across the room to find Arthur something to wear. "Was it?" he asked, then sighed. "Sire, I understand why you were annoyed at me, but honestly, most people go to the stocks for...I dunno...calling you an ass or something." Arthur chuckled, recalling how Merlin had gone to the stocks the first time for saying that he would never have a friend who could be such an ass.

Arthur suddenly felt very angry. At himself, at Merlin, he didn't know. But when he remembered what Merlin had said all those weeks ago, he assumed that Merlin still felt that way. Here he was, actually admitting to himself - and, heaven forbid, Hermione Granger - that he considered Merlin to be his best friend, and all the while Merlin thought that he was a stuck up bully. Surely his views hadn't changed? Or had they?

"Why are you here, Merlin?" he asked suddenly, his voice harsher than he intended it to be.

Merlin looked confused. "Erm, you told me to, Sire."

Arthur waved away the obvious answer. "I didn't mean that, you idi-Merlin. I meant...why do you stay here? In Camelot? As my servant? I mean, you called me an ass when we first met, yet you've stuck by me, even when I put you in the stocks. Why?"

Merlin looked at the ground. "I dunno...Sire, we need to get you ready."

Frowning at Merlin's evasion of the subject, Arthur waved this comment away as well. "Come on, Merlin. Surely you don't consider me as a friend, do you? Because you  _know_ propriety won't allow it."

Merlin laughed shakily. "You? My friend? I told you, I'd never have a friend who was such an ass." He choked on the last word.

That was all the answer Arthur needed. That and the tears glistening unshed in his eyes confirmed the truth: Merlin truly did view Arthur as a friend.

Arthur cringed as he realized how much what he had said must have hurt. Why hadn't he thought before he spoke? Maybe Hermione was right. How could Arthur truly see Merlin as a friend when he treated him this way? Sure, Merlin was a servant, but still...

"Merlin, I'll get myself ready for the audience," he said absently. Merlin, his eyes pained, looked surprised.

"Sire, if it's something I did..."

Yet again, Arthur waved him away. "No, Merlin. You've done nothing wrong. I...just need to think. I trust you'll be there  _on time_ for our guests' audience with my father?"

Merlin nodded. "Of course, Sire." He started to leave, but then turned back, "Sire, are you sure..."

"Yes, Merlin! I said, I'm fine!" Arthur snapped, cursing himself for losing his temper. He was just so confused right now...

Merlin slowly left Arthur's chambers, and Arthur flung himself backwards onto the bed. His head was pounding, and he could still see Merlin asking if he was  _sure_ he didn't need anything else. Such loyalty, even when Arthur was being a prat to him!

Sighing, Arthur got up and began to prepare for the audience. He found that he missed Merlin's bumbling around, trying to get everything done without tripping, making stupid remarks. He huffed, annoyed at himself, at Merlin, at the strangers...

Life had been  _so_ much simpler before he'd met Hermione Granger.


	6. King Uther

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood before the King, their heads bowed respectfully. Although outwardly they appeared to be moderately calm and composed, all three of their hearts were beating wildly. They had been anxious about meeting Uther, but now that they were actually standing before him, before the legendary king that hated magic with such a blind passion that he had been known throughout wizarding history as "Uther the Ruthless," that they were absolutely terrified. Hermione's palms were sweating as she remembered Professor Binns'(the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts; he had died in his chambers but apparently either didn't notice or care and just got up as a ghost to teach and left his body behind) lectures about Uther and the anti-magic purge he headed near the beginning of the century. He had said that there were many fuzzy details, especially concerning the Muggles involved with the Great Purge, but from the witch's and wizard's point of view, the results were devastating.

Oddly enough, Hermione did not recall a young Merlin ever being mentioned in Professor Binns' class  _or_ her History of Magic textbook. She assumed, however, that this was because Merlin was such a legendary figure in the wizarding world that stories had become confused with facts - or perhaps this was the way Merlin had preferred it, to be shrouded in mystery. It could also be that the idea of an older, wiser Merlin mentoring a young Prince Arthur was more appealing to the contemporary wizard because of the fame of wizards like Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel, both very powerful, wise, and old. She shook herself mentally; now was not the time to be questioning the accuracy of her textbooks. Although...

She made a note to herself that if they ever got back to Hogwarts, she had found the topic for her term essay.

She glanced toward the front of the hall, where Uther sat with his son on one side and a beautiful, pale, raven-haired woman on the other. Hermione felt her stomach clench.  _Morgana._ The witch of the legends, the sorceress that was supposed to have been Merlin's undoing. Should she warn Merlin about the treachery in her future? Was it right to try and influence what happened in the past? That's what they were doing right now, wasn't it? Messing with history. No, they were just trying to get home. She needed to leave well-enough alone. But still... She glanced at the dark-haired girl, clad in a deep, green silk dress that was embroidered intricately with beaded flowers and golden threads.

Behind them, she knew, were Gwen, Merlin and Gaius, along with a few knights and some other servants. Hermione rested her eyes on Uther Pendragon. He was a ruggedly handsome man, just now beginning to show his age. His eyes were dark and deep, but guarded, holding terrible secrets that Hermione would rather not know. He was dressed regally, clad in leather, rings on his fingers and pendants around his neck. His mouth was set in a firm line. Hermione felt her knees trembling slightly. What if Uther saw through the story she had concocted? What if he found out that they were wizards? He would kill them before they even had a chance to speak to Merlin about how to get back. Then they never would have been born, and Harry would never have defeated Voldemort when he was a baby...and all would be lost.

She snuck a glance over her shoulder at Merlin, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his head down. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she noticed some sadness that had not been there earlier marring his features. Seeing him standing so comfortably in Uther's court, the greatest wizard of all time, she felt better knowing that he had kept his secret. And if what she  _had_ read about Merlin and his beliefs was correct, he would not simply stand by and let fellow wizards die for the magic they were born with.

"Your names?"

Hermione, Harry, and Ron jumped slightly as Uther, his voice firm and imposing, used to being obeyed without a second thought, swept through the hall. They looked up, and Hermione locked eyes with Arthur for a moment, who nodded his head at her almost imperceptibly. Come to think of it, it seemed like something was bothering the young prince as well. She cast away the thought as she heard Harry begin to introduce them as she had hesitated to speak. She silently thanked him for not keeping the king waiting.

"Sire, my name is Harry Potter. These are my friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"What business do you have in Camelot?" Uther wanted to know.

Harry glanced at Hermione, who took the cue and began speaking, her voice quiet and nervous at first, but growing stronger by the second. "My Lord, we come from a small village many miles from Camelot. Our town was attacked by an evil sorcerer who killed most of our people. My friends and I were some of the lucky few who were able to escape. Harry," she gestured at Harry vaguely, "was touched by the evil magic and it nearly killed him. Luckily, we got away before the sorcerer could finish him off."

Uther looked at the three for a long moment. "Your village is out of my territory. There is little I can do for you. You should know that, should appeal to your own king."

"Our king cares little about his people, My Lord," Hermione said softly, her voice breaking. Harry and Ron exchanged impressed glances at her performance. "We simply needed to get away, and we had heard of your intolerance of magic and thought you were our only hope. We do not expect you to send your knights to go and intercept this sorcerer, or send help to our village - it is devastated to the point of no return, anyway. All we humbly ask is for lodging in Camelot until we are able to move on."

Uther glanced at his son and then nodded. "Arthur has told me of you and mentioned you are of great virtue. I am sorry I can do more to help you, but you shall be given a room in the castle until other arrangements can be made." He looked at Harry closely. "You, boy - you were touched by evil magic?"

Harry swallowed, thinking of the killing curse that had rebounded off of him onto Voldemort when he was just a baby, leaving him with only a lightening scar. "Y-yes," he said.

Uther stared long and hard at him, his eyes lingering on his scar. "Is that where you were touched?"

Harry nodded silently. He could feel everyone's eyes upon him - Uther's, Arthur's, and Morgana's in particular.

"Gaius," Uther said briskly.

Gaius stepped forward. "Sire?"

"I want you to examine the boy, make sure that this evil sorcerer did not do anything to his mind. I will not have someone corrupted by dark magic in Camelot. If you find anything out of order, let me know immediately, and I will decide upon how he will be dealt with." Harry gulped, fixing his eyes on the floor. "Is that understood?" The question was aimed at both Harry and Gaius.

"Yes, Sire," Gaius said, while Harry nodded, his throat tight. If Gaius found out about the connection he shared with Lord Voldemort - the one that allowed him to feel Voldemort's anger, to see what he saw at times - then he would surely tell Uther, who would decide that Harry had an aura of dark magic with him and would more than likely be executed. He could feel Ron and Hermione's anxious eyes on him, but he didn't acknowledge them.

"You are dismissed," Uther said. "Arthur, your servant can prepare them a room."

* * *

Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Merlin filed into the room that the three were going to stay in while in Camelot. There were three cots, a large but unadorned wardrobe, and bracketed candles lining the walls. A tapestry, aged with time, hung on one of the walls. "Well," said Merlin, "this is home."

The other three remained silent. Merlin let his eyes travel to Harry's scar. "If you don't mind me asking," he said, "how  _did_ you get that scar?"

Harry sighed. "It's a long story," he admitted.

Merlin nodded. "I understand, if you don't want to talk about it-"

"No," Harry said quickly, "that's not it at all. I mean, it really  _is_ a long story and I know Arthur probably wants you back in his chambers."

Sadness washed over Merlin's normally cheerful face. "No, actually," he said softly. "He gave me the evening off."

"Well, that's good!" Hermione breezed, her cheeks coloring as she met his eyes. "You work so hard, you deserve a day off."

Merlin shrugged. "Arthur's mad at me."

Harry looked at the young warlock sympathetically. "What happened?" he wanted to know.

Merlin smiled half-heartedly. "It's a long story." He told them about his spat with Arthur.

"He is such a... such a... spoiled  _brat_!" Hermione fumed. "I don't understand  _how_ he becomes the greatest king Camelot has ever known!"

Merlin stared at her then, for a long time, and her cheeks turned from pink to crimson. "Oi," Ron said grumpily. "Are you going to sit and stare, or are you going to say something?"

Merlin asked, "How did you know about that?"

"About what?" Hermione said, glaring at Ron for interrupting her "moment."

"About Arthur's destiny?"

Harry smiled. "This kind of brings us back around to what we were needing to talk to you about earlier."

Merlin frowned. "Okay...?"

"Alright, this is going to sound crazy, Merlin," Harry said, "and I mean, like really crazy."

"Come on, Harry, he  _is_ the great Merlin," Ron grinned. "I'm sure he can handle it."

Merlin looked even more confused. "What - what are you on about?"

Hermione, slipping into her "know-it-all" mode, quickly began to explain, while still managing to glance bashfully at Merlin at the same time. "We...aren't exactly from around here," she said. "We had to lie about our village being attacked, because we aren't exactly  _from_ a village. We're not from this area at all. You see-"

"Oh, bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron groaned. "You over-complicate things." He turned to Merlin. "We're from the future."

* * *

Merlin stared, not sure he had heard correctly. "The...future?" he asked hesitantly.

"You  _do_ believe us, don't you?" Hermione asked timidly.

Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. These three strangers had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, in Camelot the night before. They wore strange clothing made of materials much lighter than what Merlin was used to. And they knew about Arthur's destiny...

The whole situation was very strange, not something that Merlin would have ever imagined happening. Yet he felt in his heart, the deepest recesses of his soul, that he could trust these three teenagers before him. They, after all, trusted him enough to reveal that they had magic. Why would they lie about being from the future? He opened his eyes and locked eyes with Hermione. "I do," he said simply.

Ron's mouth fell open. "Really?" he asked, dumbfounded. "Just like that?"

Merlin hesitated, then nodded resolutely. "Yeah. Just like that."

"Merlin's beard," Ron swore, looking at Merlin with a new admiration.

"Okay, you  _have_ to explain why you keep talking about my beard!" Merlin insisted. He pointed at his clean-shaven face. "I don't even  _have_ a beard!"

Ron laughed loudly. Harry tried to explain. "Well...in the future, where we are from, you are kind of...famous."

Merlin stared. "Me? Famous? Why on earth would  _I_ be famous? I'm just Prince Arthur's man servant. Nothing special."

"Merlin, you are known by wizards and Muggles - people without magic - alike," Hermione said. "The legends have become mixed up with the facts, so everyone has a slightly different story to tell, but you..." She gazed into his eyes. "You are known as the most powerful wizard to ever live."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure we're talking about the same Merlin? And what does this have to do with the beard that I don't have?"

"It  _is_ you," Harry insisted. Hermione nodded earnestly and even Ron gave a reluctant nod. "And...in most stories, everyone knows you as an old man."

Merlin looked mortified. "An old man?" he croaked.

"Yeah," Ron chipped in, looking quite pleased with himself. "An old man with long, blue robes with stars and moons on it and a pointy hat!"

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed, and opened it again. "I do  _not_ dress like that!" he declared.

"It's just because the stories have been retold so many times," Hermione reassured him. "The legend goes that Merlin, the greatest wizard of all time, was a mentor and friend to the famous King Arthur, who was the greatest king that ever lived. In most of the stories, Merlin is an old man when he meets Arthur as a young boy of about twelve or thirteen. Obviously, the history books have it wrong, I am going to have to send an owl to the author and have them revise it," she resolved.

"An owl?" Merlin asked weakly, not sure if he would ever get caught up, feeling the conversation slipping from him.

"In the future, non-magical people don't know about magic," Hermione explained. "And the wizards and witches have their own world, basically. We have schools, and banks, and a government-"

Merlin's eyes lit up. "A school? For magic?"

Hermione nodded. "We go to Hogwarts, which is-"

"Wow," Merlin interrupted. "I bet I could learn a  _lot_ from this school! I haven't had any formal instruction, just the magic books that Gaius has lent me."

Hermione smiled. "Actually, Merlin, if  _Hogwarts: A History_  is correct, you are the one responsible for putting the idea of an all-wizarding school out there. When the four founders of Hogwarts, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin, came across your idea, they immediately put it into action."

Merlin stared at her blankly, then turned to Ron and Harry. "What is she talking about, then?"

Ron snickered, patting Merlin on the back. "Just smile and nod, mate. Smile and nod."

* * *

They managed to piece together a relatively understandable version of what the wizarding world was like, who Voldemort was and why Harry had to get back and away from the threat of Uther, Although Merlin was still confused about some things, he understood the basics of what they asked - they needed a way to get back to Hogwarts, hundreds of years into the future.

"It's a lot to swallow," he said finally.

Hermione looked at him anxiously. "Merlin, I swear, if we had any other option, we wouldn't bother you with this, but..."

Merlin shook his head. "You're not bothering me at all, Hermione. I'm glad you have enough faith in me that you believe I can get you back home. But..."

"But?" Harry prompted when Merlin trailed off into silence.

"But I don't know if I have the faith in myself," Merlin admitted. "I didn't even know it was possible to perform magic like this, so strong that it takes you back this far in time. And even if I could find such a spell, who's to say that I would be powerful enough to make it work? You say that I'm the greatest wizard of all time, yet I don't know what I'm doing half the time. I've been teaching myself spells, but I don't know if I can do this..."

"We believe in you, Merlin," Hermione said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "And not just because you're the stuff of legend. But because...because you are a good, decent, hardworking person. You have great powers and I know you have the ability to help us."

Harry and Ron nodded solemnly. Merlin smiled his gratitude.

"I will do everything in my power to try and help you," he promised.

Without thinking, Hermione threw her arms around his neck and gave him a hug. Blushing profusely, she pulled back. "Sorry," she said.

Merlin smiled. "It's alright."

Ron glowered.

"It  _will_ take some time, though," Merlin warned. "I don't know what I'll be able to dig up without raising suspicions." He glanced at Harry. "I wouldn't worry about Gaius's examination. It won't be anything extensive, just a few questions and a look into your eyes, that's all. He's done it to me some when I've been in a mess concerning dark magic. He won't find anything, even  _with_ the connection with Voldemort's brain." He smiled encouragingly. "Besides, you may have lost that connection when you traveled back in time, anyway. That would have to be one  _powerful_ connection to stay strong over centuries, right?"

Harry grinned. Merlin had a way of lifting your spirits just with a few words. Even though he was young, Harry could see that he would become the wizard they all knew and loved in the future. And he wasn't sure why he felt it, but the power and sparkle in his dark blue eyes reminded him strangely of those of one Albus Dumbledore.

When Merlin finally left to go back to his room for the night, he stopped at the door and smiled. "I know you're worried, but I'm kind of glad you're here...it's good to talk to someone who understands."

Hermione smiled, Harry nodded, and Ron grunted.

"I'm glad we came here, too," Harry admitted. Hermione smiled and blushed.

Ron just grumbled.


	7. The Lady Morgana

_S_ _he appears to him in another dream._

_"I grow tired of this," Voldemort states, the only indication of his annoyance in the fierce fire that burns in his soulless red eyes. "How much preparation does it take to render one boy defenseless?"_

_Nimueh smirks, her dream-self utterly confident and poised. "I might ask you the same question, Lord Voldemort." His eyes narrow suspiciously as she embellishes on her comment. "After all, you have been trying to defeat this Potter child for fifteen years. I believe two days is not too much time to ask me to prepare."_

_His eyes flash cruelly, dangerously. "I demand you bring me to Camelot this instant, Nimueh! I have no more patience to wait for the boy to be delivered."_

_She frowns indulgently upon him, as if he is a small child being reprimanded for wanting candy. "You are not a priestess of the Old Religion," she says smoothly, her eyes cold and calculating. "You do not know the processes one must go through in order to turn a wizard's - even a relatively weak one's - powers against him." Her perfectly formed lips slowly curl into a smile. "Besides," she says, "you have some sort of connection with the boy, am I correct? He can feel your anger, feel your presence, and sometimes even see what you see and invade your dreams as I am now doing?"_

_Voldemort dips his head slightly, confirming._

_"Do you not think, My Lord, that this Harry Potter will not sense your presence when you arrive in Camelot? They know they are here for a reason, but they do not yet know the cause, and whether the intent of them being sent here was good or bad. Right now, their only concern is Uther Pendragon-" (she spat the king's name like poison) "-and what he will do to them if he finds out they have magic. They have asked Merlin to help them find a way back to your time. The boy is still young and does not know great things like he is meant to later on in life. It will take him quite a while to even begin to find what he is looking for. Why not be patient and lull the silly children into a false sense of security? That way, when you do arrive, and it is our turn to strike, we will have even more of an advantage."_

_Voldemort sniffs disdainfully. "Nimueh, do not try and fool me. You only wish to play with them, a foolish game of Cat and Mouse."_

_Nimueh allows a small grin to light up her eyes. "Perhaps," she says, "but you are in no position to make demands. I am only in your dreams, remember? I am Nimueh, great priestess of the Old Religion; it is I who hold the power of time in my hands." She levels him with a steady glare. "It is I who decides when you shall arrive in Camelot, Lord Voldemort. And you would do well to remember that you are not the only powerful sorcerer to ever live. There may have been someone, in a time long before your own, whose powers were much greater than your own. Pride may yet be your downfall...Tom Riddle."_

_She vanishes, leaving Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Marvalo Riddle, in a fit of rage._

* * *

Merlin made an extra effort to rise early and arrive on time to work the next morning. Having stayed up so late talking with his new friends, he was extremely exhausted, but was determined to work past it and show Arthur that he was  _not_  just a lazy, good for nothing servant. He was still rather angry about the spat with the prince yesterday, but was beginning to realize that perhaps Arthur's words weren't exactly an accurate portrayal of his true feelings. After all, Arthur and Merlin had been through so much together, and doing so much for one another, Merlin wasn't sure if anyone could experience so much and walk away with the same platonic relationship that they started out with.

He remembered that Arthur had mentioned something about propriety when they had spoken yesterday, and Merlin felt that this lay at the heart of the problem. As a prince, Arthur was expected to do so much - and if he had any clue what Merlin was expecting him to do someday, what with his destiny of becoming the greatest king Camelot has ever known - he would probably be even more uptight. Often, the prince came off as a prat, but Merlin knew that most of the time, the blatant disregard for Merlin's feelings was due more to stress than anything else. Still, to say outright, with no qualms, that there is no way that they could ever be friends because _propriety_ wouldn't allow it? If that were true, maybe Merlin wouldn't have been so bothered by it. But it was a load of lies!

Uther's ward, Morgana, was the best of friends with her handmaiden, Gwen. The two girls were very close and Morgana made a point to openly share that she was not ashamed of being close to her servant, and criticized anyone who insisted upon calling her out on it. Morgana did not allow  _propriety_ to stand in the way of her friendship with Gwen. She would not allow it.

What hurt the most about Arthur's words, however, is that he really wasn't sure if he was just saying that, or if that was how Arthur really felt. Arthur could be difficult to read at times, as he rarely allowed his emotions to show in any degree. He was a man of action, a fighter, not a man of words, of feelings. Merlin, for a reason that he could not even figure out for himself, had thought that the two of them had...something. He had thought that Arthur cared for him as a friend, if just a bit. He didn't expect Arthur to treat him like an equal, even when they were alone, but for Arthur to so callously scoff at the mere prospect of being friends with Merlin hurt.

Merlin sighed as he reached Arthur's chambers. Trying to figure out the prince was more difficult that mastering any spell he'd ever tried. Although he may seem shallow and obnoxious on the outside, Merlin knew that he really was a deep person, with feelings that reached beyond the realm of comfort, past the zone of just "happy" and "sad." Arthur was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and one of the easiest ways to lighten the burden was to push it all on Merlin, taking his frustration out on the only source that wouldn't - couldn't - fight back. If only he understood the extent of the world that also rested on Merlin's shoulders. Maybe then he would lay off a bit, and be a little less reluctant to admit, if only to himself, that Merlin was indeed a friend.

Merlin had talked to Hermione, Ron, and Harry for a while about the situation with Arthur for a while last night, and he was grateful that his friends were so understanding. Harry had told him about how he had grown up like a servant to his aunt and uncle, being forced to live in a little room beneath the stairs, always getting pushed aside and without any real friends. He had not known that he had magic until he was eleven years old, but ever since then, when he was out in the world of the non-magical people - the Muggles, if Merlin was remembering the term correctly - he had to hide his magic. The consequences were not nearly as extreme as Merlin's would be if he were revealed, but at least he did understand to a degree.

He thought about knocking on the prince's door, but decided that that would be taking this tactic a little  _too_ far. After all, if he started treating Arthur like the prince everyone else did, who would keep His Royal Highness from being His Royal Pratness? No, Merlin decided, he would barge in as usual.

Arthur was still asleep, which was a bit of a surprise. Many times, Merlin was late, and the prince had already woken up. Striding to the window, Merlin pulled back the curtains and let fresh, blinding sunlight stream into Arthur's chambers. "Good morning, Sire!" he chirped, perhaps a bit too upbeat at the prospect of actually getting to wake Arthur up for once - normally it was making up excuses in a feeble attempt to explain why he was late and hadn't been in time to wake the prince up.

Arthur grumbled slightly and sat up, his eyes widening considerably when he saw that Merlin was at work on time. "Merlin? What  _are_ you doing here?" he asked, and Merlin gave a too-innocent glance at his master over his shoulder.

"I believe I'm doing my job, Sire. And I believe you should get out of bed so that you can get ready to do yours."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he carefully considered his servant, but Merlin seemed oblivious to his scrutiny. A tug of friendship, of brotherly affection for the boy pulled lightly at his heart, and he brushed it aside, even as a pang of guilt quickly proceeded to take its place as he remembered how he had treated Merlin the day before. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to his servant, but he realized that Merlin was out of the room, getting his breakfast. Arthur sighed, wondering how he had made such a mess of things.

* * *

Morgana was striding down the hall, on her way to nowhere in particular, when she saw the three strangers standing against the wall, talking quietly amongst themselves. The dark-haired one, the one who had been touched by magic, glanced up and their eyes met. His eyes, she saw clearly for the first time, were a striking green behind the glass of the spectacles he wore. She felt something, some sort of shock, start in her brain and slowly travel down her spine. He looked away after a few seconds, but the feeling still lingered. Something was there, she knew it instantly. Some sort of connection existed between her and the boy named Potter. And she had to find out more. Not only that, but he intrigued her for some unbeknownst reason.

She stopped at the cluster of the three guests, smiling as disarmingly as possible, but her heart was beating madly when she saw how close she was to Harry. She wondered if he could feel it too. His friend, the red-haired boy, was staring openly at her, and his friend, the rather average-looking girl whom she had noticed paid a lot of attention to Arthur's servant Merlin, was glaring at him as if a bit annoyed. "Hello," Morgana said pleasantly.

"Er...hi," the dark-haired boy said, and his voice was so much clearer than she expected.

"I do not believe I have properly introduced myself," Morgana began, being sure to shift her gaze to meet the eyes of all three of them and not focus every ounce of her attention on Harry alone. Her eyes were drawn to that scar...what could have caused something like that? Dark magic, Gaius had said. "I am the Lady Morgana."

"Ronald Weasley," the red one said with a flourish, slowly stretching as if trying to show off his physique - if that was what one could call it.

The girl rolled her eyes at her friend, and Morgana couldn't help but wonder if there was something going on between the two. She turned her gaze to Morgana's and eyed her suspiciously, although Morgana could not fathom why. "Hermione Granger," she said coldly.

Morgana nodded slightly, her confidence faltering a bit. Why did this girl seem to be so put off by her presence.

Then he spoke, and Morgana forgot about her. "Harry. Harry Potter."

Morgana smiled, and he returned the gesture slowly. "It is very nice to meet you all," she said sincerely, her eyes lingering on Harry. The closer she got to him, the fiercer the connection grew. She could not tell by his facial expression whether he was sharing the experience, but the desire to be near him was so strong for her that she had force herself to move on. "I am glad that you have found refuge from the magical threat inside the great walls of Camelot."

"Me too," Ron said wistfully, gazing at her as if she were some sort of goddess. Although used to men following her with their eyes because of her beauty, Morgana found this particular boy a bit unnerving and decided it was time to move on. "Good day." She looked once more at Harry. "I hope to see you again in the near future."

Harry nodded, not sure if her comment was meant for them all, or just at him. "Right," he said nervously.

She walked away.

* * *

Ron stared at Hermione, aghast. "Why were you so rude to her? That was totally uncalled for!"

Hermione snorted. "Oh, right, like the way that you are being  _so_  civil to Merlin? I swear, Ron, you can talk to anyone you want, but if I happen to even glance at a boy that I might be interested in, you get your knickers wound up so tight an anti-wedgie counter curse couldn't get them straight again!"

Ron gaped as if astounded by her audacity. "You're not serious?" he breathed. "You can bloody well talk to whoever you bloody well please! Excuse me for trying to protect you from going wonky like you did with Lockhart our second year. You were so enamored with him you walked around in a bloody daze!"

Harry tried to step in. "Ron-"

Ron ignored him. "We all know you think Merlin is great, Hermione, and you have Arthur wrapped around your finger. For some reason, the boys in this century can't seem to stay away from you."

"And that  _bothers_  you?" Hermione shrieked in a high-pitched whisper. "That someone is actually paying  _me_ a little attention? Honestly, Ronald, do you really think I  _want_ Prince Arthur flirting with me? He is a prat! And as for Merlin, how I feel is really none of your business."

"You  _do_ realize that we are centuries in the past, right?" Ron hissed, barely audible as he didn't want anyone to hear this part of their conversation. "Nothing can happen between the two of you!"

Hermione huffed impatiently. "Ron, I am  _not_  in love with Merlin. In fact, you and Harry should be feeling the exact same way about him that I feel right now!"

Even Harry did a double take when he heard her words, momentarily forgetting about trying to keep peace.

"Oh, yeah," Ron said sarcastically. "I think I'll head right on over to Merlin's room and start snogging him right now!"

Harry's eyes went wide. "Uh, Ron," he said.

Ron looked up. "What?" he snapped. Harry inclined his head and Ron turned around.

There stood Prince Arthur, looking confused but also rather annoyed. "Anything I need to know about?" he asked too pleasantly, looking at Ron as if his head weren't quite on straight.

"Er...depends," Ron said, "on how much of that you heard."

Harry dropped his face into his hands, partly to try to cover the mortification of the predicament Ron had put himself in, and partly trying to suppress the growing laughter. Hermione just looked on, wide-eyed, the look on her face partway in between horrified and amused.

"Oh, nothing much," Arthur said. "Only a young  _man_  fantasizing about snogging my servant." He raised an eyebrow at Ron, who looked to Harry and Hermione for help. He found none.

Turning back to the prince, he stuttered, "I wasn't fantasizing about anything." Arthur looked as if he were trying to decide whether he was amused or angry at Ron's clumsy attempt to explain himself. Ron tried again, "Hermione's angry at me, Sire, because she's in love with Merlin, and she said that I should feel the same way about him, and then I was being sarcastic."

Hoping that it was a good enough explanation and that word of this wouldn't reach Merlin (because it would be extremely awkward if it did), Ron hadn't noticed that Hermione's face was turning a bright shade of red.

"You idiot!" she fumed, and Arthur found himself glancing around for Merlin, so used to the word "idiot" being used to describe his servant. Hermione was, of course, talking to Ron, and she was so angry that Arthur didn't dare try to find out what was going on. "I am  _not_ in love with anyone! I was just saying that Merlin is something special, that you should also respect him, instead of treating him like he's done some sort of terrible wrong! All he's done is be nice to us and try to help us, and you act like I am so smitten with him that I need to be shaken out of it! You are so...infuriating!"

Ron snorted, but didn't risk answering back.

Arthur glanced at Harry. "I figured he was just joking," he said quietly. "I was just messing with him...I hope I didn't cause anything too serious."

Harry sighed wearily. "No, they do this a lot, actually," he admitted.

Arthur glanced at Hermione, who was having a whispered, heated discussion with Ron. "Is she really in love with  _Merlin_?"

Harry shrugged. "Never can tell with Hermione." He locked eyes with Arthur. "But even if she was, would that be so bad? I mean, Merlin should be allowed to be loved by someone, too, even if he  _is_ just a servant."

Arthur grunted, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "I suppose. It's just..."

Harry nodded. "You fancy her."

"There's just something about her," Arthur mused. "Something...special." His shoulders slumped. "Your friend Ronald seems to have noticed that too."

Harry shrugged again. "Honestly, they bicker like an old married couple so often that I just learn to tune it out."

"Mmmm." Arthur straightened and took his attention off of Hermione, putting his "Prince face" back on. "Listen, Harry, I was wanting to speak with Hermione about something rather important, but since she is busy, I will talk with her later. Would you ask her if she will join me for dinner tonight?" He sighed, glancing at Ron. "All of you are welcome, of course."

Harry nodded. "Of course, Sire."

Arthur walked away, lost in thought.

Harry took a deep breath and headed forward into the midst of the battle, hoping he didn't suffer any great causalities trying to break up one of Ron and Hermione's famous fights.


	8. Harry's Scar

Merlin entered Arthur's chambers, wondering why his master had called him away from the stables that he had been mucking, and hoping that he wasn't about to get an even more repulsive job from the prince. After receiving his list of duties from Arthur, the prince had sent him off and not spoken another word. Merlin felt the weight of confusion nearly suffocating his chest. He had no idea if Arthur was angry at him or simply mulling things over, but ever since their spat the day before, the prince had been distant to Merlin, which made the young warlock even more uneasy than when Arthur was visibly annoyed.

Arthur, who was standing at his favorite window, the window that looked over the expanse of the courtyard and the valleys, woods, and trees of the Darkling Woods that lay beyond. It was just past noon and the sun was just now beginning to edge in a westward direction, still high overhead. Its rays spread across Camelot, causing the glass of the window to glitter. Camelot was bathed in the invigorating pools of sunlight. Merlin knew that Arthur loved to gaze out of this window, drinking in the beauty and majesty of the great kingdom that would one day be his.

Although Arthur had never said anything about it to Merlin, the wizard could tell from the faraway look in his master's eyes that Arthur was thinking of the future, wondering if he will be the kind of king that Camelot needed. Merlin knew that although Arthur could be arrogant and demanding that he had a good heart, a heart that was deeply in love with his kingdom. Arthur's future was so tightly meshed with the future of this land.

When Uther died, Arthur would be left to defend, to rule, and to take care of Camelot. Merlin knew, he just  _knew_ , that Arthur was afraid that he would not be the king that he needed to be.

If only he knew what Merlin knew. Merlin felt a small ache in his chest, a pain that had become more and more consistent over the last few weeks: a nearly overwhelming urge to tell Arthur about his powers and about the great future that the two of them would build for the kingdom that the prince so cherished. As he looked at the unnaturally still form of Prince Arthur of Camelot, Merlin knew that the time had not arrived. After all, Uther was still king and would execute anyone for possession of magic. Still, Merlin hated seeing Arthur, the other side of the coin, looking so down.

Merlin cleared his throat and said softly, "You are going to be a great king."

Arthur didn't move for a few long moments. Then he turned and looked at Merlin strangely, as if he had given up trying to figure the boy out. Merlin assumed that the prince was going to make a smart retort, ragging on Merlin about his inferior intellect or strange behavior. Instead, Arthur's expression softened as he turned back to the window. "How did you know what I was thinking about?" he asked softly.

Quickly hiding his surprise, Merlin shrugged. Realizing that Arthur's back was to him and that the prince could not see what Merlin was doing, he quickly said, "I don't know, sire. Just a…feeling."

Arthur grunted, then straightened and turned back to Merlin. "You never cease to surprise me, Merlin," the prince said. "Sometimes you make me wonder if you are actually smarter than you look." Merlin grinned, knowing that the prince had just unwittingly complimented him. Arthur grimaced as he apparently came to the same realization. "Don't just stand there with a  _stupid_ grin on your face,  _Mer_ lin!" he snapped. "It's times like these that I realize that you are as smart as you look. And don't look so happy about it, that's  _not_ a compliment!"

Merlin's mouth twitched slightly as he tried to refrain from smiling. Hardly believing that he was happy about his master teasing him, he tried to mask his smile. He quickly changed the subject. "You wanted to see me, sire?"

All business, Arthur nodded. "Yes. I will be…ah…dining with our three guests in my chambers tonight, Merlin, and I am going to give you the night off." Merlin opened his mouth to protest, wondering what on earth would inspire Arthur to dine alone with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. He hoped that Arthur hadn't somehow figured out that the three were more than what they seemed and hunting for information. Although he didn't think this would be something that Arthur would do, he could think of no other reason for the prince to dine with them and he instantly sought to protect his new friends.

"Sire, perhaps I should be—"

"Oh, shut up,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur griped without looking the least bit angry with his servant. He voice was actually lighter than usual, friendlier than he normally spoke to Merlin. "Just take the night off. I will have another servant come in and serve us for the night, and  _no_ , I am  _not_ replacing you, you idiot, so wipe that shocked look off your face. You are taking the night off because you need a break. Heaven forbid I ever give you one, you're looking pale, almost sickly, and need your rest. You'll be absolutely no help to me if you're dead on your feet from exhaustion, and what use is a servant who can't stay awake to do his chores?"

Merlin was going to remind Arthur that he was always pale, but then realized something else that Arthur said. "If this is about me running late, it wasn't because I was sleeping in. I told you, I was running an errand for Gaius." Arthur started to shake his head, and Merlin interrupted, getting annoyed at how Arthur was pushing him away, more so than he ever had before. And why? They had had plenty of arguments before, and Arthur had never reacted like this! "And I feel  _fine_ , Arthur! I am not exhausted  _or_ sickly!"

Arthur sighed, annoyance beginning to creep back into his eyes. "Just do as you're told,  _Mer_ lin. And I expect to see you at work  _on time_  first thing tomorrow morning. Am I clear?"

Merlin, his jaw tight, nodded curtly. "Yes, sire."

* * *

Ron and Hermione were having a heated discussion back in the guest chambers, much to Harry's dismay. He sighed heavily, leaning against the window sill, staring gloomily out at Camelot and the surrounding area. While the view from their chambers was nowhere nearly as grand as Arthur's, the extravagant beauty of the empirical architecture and the natural stillness and tranquility of the land was still prominent. He fixed his gaze toward the Darkling Forest, thinking that there was something strangely appealing, magical, and almost familiar about the dark mass of trees and trying to ignore Ron and Hermione's bickering.

"Ron, I don't give a troll's bogey who you talk to!" Hermione huffed. "But Morgana cannot be trusted, and therefore, I was suspicious of her."

Ron scoffed disbelievingly. "Hermione, you don't even know her. What in the name of Merlin's pointy hat makes you think that she can't be trusted?"

Hermione glared at her friend so fiercely that Ron actually backed up a couple of steps. "Ronald, have you not grown up hearing the stories about Merlin and Arthur?  _Who_ is it that becomes a powerful, evil sorceress, the ultimate downfall of Merlin?"

Ron scrunched his face up. "Morgan Le Fay, of course," he said in a relatively accurate imitation of Hermione's "know-it-all" voice.

Hermione's eyes widened as she waited for Ron to make the connection.

When he did, he chuckled. "You think that Morgan Le Fay and Morgana are the same person, Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione said haughtily.

Ron shook his head slowly. "Hermione, the stories are about a woman named  _Morgan_ , not Morgana. Besides, she seemed so nice."

"Oh, please," Hermione said, waving off his last comment. "I saw how you were looking at her, and it wasn't her  _niceness_ that caught your eye, now was it?"

Fuming, Ron retorted, "Even if she  _is_ one and the same, why be mean to her? I mean, the future's set in stone, right? We know the story about what's going to happen in Arthurian history; it's in all our textbooks and in the Muggles' bedtime stories. Being mean to her isn't going to change the fact that she's going to be the demise of Merlin, is it?"

Hermione opened her mouth and Ron flinched slightly, as if expecting to get screamed at. Instead, Hermione nearly gave him a strange, calculating stare and said, "No, Ron, I  _don't_ think the future is set in stone. It can't be."

Harry, growing interested in the conversation now that it was actually somewhat civil, turned away from the window and joined his friends. "Hermione's right, Ron. I mean, the whole reason we are trying to get back into our own time is because if we are killed here, we won't exist in the future, right?"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "It also means that we are, just by being here, tampering with the future."

Ron cocked his head. "Come off it, Hermione, we aren't doing anything wrong."

"Not wrong, exactly, but unnatural," Hermione tried to explain. Her brow wrinkled in concentration as she tried to find the words to explain. "Everything we do here, everyone we interact with, is an intricate part of this era, am I right?"

Harry and Ron slowly nodded, not seeing where Hermione was going with this.

"We are not," she said, "and that means that every place we step, every person we speak to, and every life we impact, we are messing with the past, and even one infinitesimal change in the past can drastically alter the future. It's dangerous stuff. I can't believe I didn't think of this sooner! We've been so worried about getting back before we get killed by Uther that we haven't even considered that we may be causing just as much damage to the future as we would if we did die! It's the same concept as with the time-turner!"

Ron, who had never traveled back in time via a time-turner, merely listened in interest, but Harry quickly jumped on her words. "Impossible. The reason time-turners are so dangerous is because you don't go this far back in time, back when you didn't even exist. The problem with time-turners is that if you see yourself in the past from the future, then you could go mad from the…I dunno…" He trailed off, clutching his head. "My head hurts."

"I know, this is all a bit confusing to me, too," Hermione said, trying to soothe him.

Harry shook his head, grimacing. "No, I mean my head hurts…as in my scar."

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances. "How is that even possible?" Hermione breathed. "We are in the past; Voldemort doesn't exist yet. It can't be he that is making your scar hurt…can it?"

Harry gritted his teeth against the sudden, searing pain and shook his head. "Can't be. Maybe our connection is that strong…maybe he is angry or something in the future because we have vanished."

Ron frowned. "Harry, I don't know…there's something really creepy about all of this. I think you need to be extra-careful ."

Harry visibly relaxed as the pain receded. "Maybe it was just a fluke or something," he said dubiously.

"I seriously doubt that," Hermione said, her voice shaking slightly. "I think that Ron is right—you need to really watch your back…and of course we will be watching it as well."

There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Hermione asked, hoping that whoever was knocking had not been standing out there for long, listening to their conversation.

"It's Merlin," came Merlin's voice, and Hermione all but threw the door open. Ron rolled his eyes.

* * *

Merlin smiled at Hermione as she flung the door open, inviting him in. He surveyed their chambers briefly. Harry was sitting on his cot, looking decidedly uncomfortable; Ron was lounging on his bed, looking both worried and irritated; and Hermione was standing right in front of him, so close that he could smell her flowery scent, her face worried but glad to see him nonetheless. Feeling like he was missing out o something rather big, he quickly asked, "Am I interrupting something?"

Harry shook his head. "No." He smiled. "Maybe you can help shed some light on the situation, actually."

Merlin smiled self-consciously, still having a difficult time believing what these three had said about him one day becoming a famous, even legendary, wizard. He had no doubt that Arthur would be the king that they predicted, but himself, the greatest warlock to ever walk the face of the earth? It seemed improbable at best, but more along the lines of purely impossible.

Still, he felt that it was his duty, his obligation to help these three wizards stranded in time. He had vowed to them and himself that he would do whatever was necessary to keep them safe and help them return home. They, like him, seemed to have a unique ability to get themselves into ridiculous amounts of trouble, if what they had told him of some of their adventures at their magic school of Hogwarts was true, and Merlin felt sure that it was.

Hermione stepped aside so he could enter and shut the door behind him when he was over the threshold. "Well, I'll certainly do everything I can, but I don't know what that will be."

"Thanks, mate," Harry said sincerely. He looked at his new friend. "Say, aren't you supposed to be working right now?"

Merlin shook his head slowly. "Arthur actually gave me another night off," he admitted, trying to hide his distress at not knowing what was going on with his friend and why he was behaving so uncharacteristically.

Hermione looked pleased. "It's about time he did that!" she said. "He works you way too much as it is!"

Merlin shook his head. "Honestly, I'm his servant, it's my job to work for him every day. I just…I just don't understand why he's pushing me away like this."

Ron sat up on his cot, eyeing Merlin with confusion. "You said yourself that the bloke is a prat," he observed, "yet you care so much about him."

Merlin shrugged self-consciously. "It's my job, my duty, my destiny to protect Arthur and prepare him to be king. I have to care."

Seeing that they were moving into awkward territory, Hermione quickly changed the subject. "We've realized something quite frightening," she said bluntly, looking into Merlin's deep eyes. "We are a danger to you all and to the future, just being here. Time travel is a delicate thing, and by just setting foot in Camelot, talking to you, yelling at Arthur…we are taking a huge risk in changing not only our future at Hogwarts, but  _your_ future, Merlin. The future of Camelot. It's unnatural, us being here. We've probably already wrought enough devastation to alter the future so drastically it can never be undone." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I don't know what we can do."

Seeing how upset she was, Merlin awkwardly pulled her into a comforting embrace. Harry glanced at Ron, expecting to see him bristle in anger, but instead, the boy was watching the scene with a sad expression. "I hate her being upset," Ron muttered quietly. Harry nodded.

Merlin gently broke the embrace, looking into her watery eyes. "Don't worry," he said soothingly. "I said I would help you and fix this, and I will."

"Any ideas yet?" Harry wanted to know.

A dark look passed over Merlin's face as he considered Harry's question. "I do, actually, although I don't know how much help he will be. He knows a lot, but doesn't exactly like to give straight answers."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione glanced at each other, all thinking of someone they knew that was quite like whoever it was that Merlin was describing: Albus Dumbledore.

"If I can," Merlin went on, "I'll take you to meet him and you can talk to him yourselves. But I'll go see him tonight while you dine with Arthur and if he'll see you, I'll take you to him tomorrow."

"Who is he?" Harry wanted to know.

"Yeah, and will he turn us in?" Ron fretted.

Merlin shook his head, smiling. "No, Uther will have nothing to do with him, don't you worry. Trust me. I'll see what I can do." He grinned. "In the meantime, you three have to get ready for your dinner with the Royal Prat…I mean Prince," he jokingly amended.

Hermione made a face. "Lovely," she groaned, sarcasm flowing through her voice. "A dinner date with the prince of prattiness himself."

Ron and Harry smiled grimly. "Hey, look on the bright side," Ron said casually, getting up and slinging a lanky arm around Hermione's shoulders. "We'll be there, too."

Hermione's eyes closed briefly and she smiled. "Yes," she said, "and I'm grateful for you." She looked at Merlin. " _All_ of you."


	9. Dinner With the Prince

Arthur dismissed the servant after the young, wiry boy of about fourteen had served the food and wine to the prince and his three guests. A fabulous meal had been prepared for this dinner with the three strangers in Camelot. There was pork, tender and juicy, the aroma so enticing the guests found themselves salivating. A variety of meats, cheeses, breads, and fruits surrounded the main course on smaller silver platters, and each person had a chalice of fine, red wine. The meal looked so scrumptious that even Ron was not looking as grumpy about being here, eating with the prince that he knew had feelings for Hermione. He glanced at the pork longingly, knowing that they couldn't begin eating until Arthur had taken his first bite.

Hermione was sitting on the right side of the table, closest to Arthur. Harry sat on the other side of her and Ron was across from Harry. They all sat rather stiffly in their chairs, not entirely sure of the nature of this visit to the prince's chambers.

After the serving boy had left the room, closing the door behind him, Arthur began to eat and Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed suit.

The meal was incredible—the three Hogwarts students couldn't be sure that the house elves that worked in the school kitchens could create a meal this pleasing. Ron did his best to look only moderately happy with the meal, but the way he was all but jamming slices of pork and cheese into his mouth gave away his fervor for dining royally. Arthur watched the red-head all but attack the food for a few seconds, looking halfway between disturbed and fascinated at how the boy was scarfing it down. He shook his head slightly and turned his attention to his right side, meeting Hermione's eyes.

Hermione wanted to look away from that intense, searching gaze, but found that she couldn't—something about the way Arthur was observing her, something deep in his eyes sparked a feeling in her heart. She felt, for the first time since meeting the prince, that perhaps the king of legend he would become was in there, somewhere, and that maybe—just maybe—the reason for calling them here wasn't something selfish or stupid as she had originally assumed. Finally, feeling her cheeks heat considerably, Hermione glanced down at her plate. Harry glanced between the prince and Hermione, trying to gauge what exactly was going on between the two. He felt as if they were having some sort of a moment—but what kind of moment, he had no idea.

Arthur, seeing Hermione's discomfort, cleared his throat. "I…want to thank you for accepting my invitation," he said, popping a grape into his mouth. After he had swallowed, he continued. Glancing again at Hermione, he said, "You three…you intrigue me."

Harry nearly choked on a sweet, doughy roll. Surely Arthur didn't suspect that there was something off about them? That they had magic? Harry felt his heart beating faster and hoped that no one else could hear the rhythmic pounding against his rib cage. "Er…we do? Sire?" Harry quickly added on the title, hoping that his nervousness wasn't bleeding through to the outside.

Hermione and Ron waited for Arthur's reply with wide eyes.

Arthur inclined his head. "The way you talk and behave…it's different."

Hermione tried to hide the flash of panic that she felt. "Are we, Sire?"

Arthur pursed his lips, thinking. "It almost seems as if you know something…something more than I originally thought."

Ron started coughing and thumping his chest as the piece of cheese he had just popped into his mouth suddenly became very difficult to swallow as his throat went dry.

Harry felt a wave of annoyance wash over him, replacing some of the initial fear he felt that Arthur had discovered them. The prince obviously suspected something but almost seemed to be toying with them, fishing for incriminating information before accusing them of whatever it was he was thinking. "And what is it, Sire, that you think we know?" he asked, a faint tinge of irritation sprinkled in his question. Ron shot him a look and Hermione continued to stare at Arthur.

Arthur's eyes flicked from Hermione to Harry. "The three of you have bonded with my servant, Merlin, very quickly," he said slowly. He turned back to Hermione. "And you, Ms. Granger, are exceedingly protective of him. I must say, I have never had a commoner speak to me so bluntly about how I should treat someone or act before." He smiled almost fondly. "Except for Merlin, that is." He locked eyes with the three of them in turn. "You seem convinced that Merlin is someone extraordinary, from what I heard of your…erm…disagreement with your friend here. You are angry when he is picked on and don't hesitate to let me know." He chuckled, as if bewildered. "Most surprising of all, you all seem to dislike me a lot."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Is that why you asked us here?" she wanted to know. "To find out why we aren't licking your shoes or trembling in your presence?" Fearing that she may have gone too far, and feeling the shocked gaze of Harry, Ron, and Arthur, she quickly added, "Your highness."

She expected Arthur to get angry, to order her to leave, to demand she apologize. What she did not expect, however, was for the prince to burst into great peals of laughter. "That's it!" he hooted. "That's what I'm talking about, Ms. Granger. Your absolute refusal to say anything less to or about me than how you feel."

Hermione's eyebrows rose so high that they disappeared under her bangs. "And this is…funny?" she asked slowly, wondering if the stress of being prince had finally gotten to Arthur.

Still chortling, he managed to control himself and reply, "Not necessarily. It's just…you three…you amuse me. Never have I had anyone, even a noble, speak to me so blatantly. Except Merlin, of course. It intrigues me, and yes, it does amuse me. I have never met a girl like you, Hermione Granger," he said softly, catching all three of them off guard. As if realizing he had gotten off topic and was ignoring his other two guests, Arthur pointedly looked away from Hermione and cleared his throat.

"So what exactly does our honesty have to do with why you asked us here?" Harry asked slowly.

"As I said, you three intrigue me. And you are very friendly and defensive of my servant."

Ron snorted, the sense of danger passing. "What, are you jealous?"

Arthur smirked. "Hardly. As much as it may shock you, Mr. Weasley, I am not an idiot, and I can very easily put two and two together."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Hermione said, looking genuinely interested in what the prince had to say.

"Yeah, we're not idiots either," Ron said, reaching for a piece of bread. "We know that you're trying to be dramatic, but could you just spit it out?" he grumbled.

Arthur pierced him with a look. "Somehow, I don't find your smarmy remarks as amusing as Ms. Granger's, Weasley," the prince said, a slight edge to his voice.

Ron gulped and fell silent, remembering Merlin's adventures in the stocks and not wanting to find out firsthand what being pelted with fruits and vegetables of the rotten variety felt—or smelled—like.

Turning back to the topic at hand, Prince Arthur said, "It's quite obvious—you know Merlin, are friends with him. Most likely, you grew up with him. You don't like the way that I treat your old friend."

Harry started to correct the prince, to tell him that they had only just met, but Hermione interrupted him. "And that revelation led to a dinner party?"

Arthur sighed. "I have a confession to make, Hermione. What you said to me, the other day, in the square…it stuck with me. I do treat Merlin very poorly at times." He frowned. "This is harder to admit than I thought," he admitted.

"We're listening," Hermione said, and Harry and Ron both nodded in agreement. No one was eating now. There was a tension in the air. Was the prince really admitting that he had been wrong?

Arthur nodded slowly. "I'm sure Merlin told you about the…er…disagreement we had the other day. I made a complete…prat…of myself and said some things to Merlin that I know really hurt his feelings. Apparently, he considers me to be his friend."

"Yes," Harry said softly. "He does—and he is very hurt and confused as to why you are pushing him away. He thinks that you are very angry at him."

"I just don't understand," Arthur said simply.

"Understand what?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Why he considers me a friend, and why he is so bloody loyal to me," Arthur said. "Most servants I've had before were far more respectful than Merlin, but they were boot-lickers, through and through. Only wanted something from me, whether it be my approval, a pay raise, or heaven knows what else. But Merlin…he does not hesitate to speak his mind, he teases me, talks to me…He treats me like a friend, though…and when it comes to loyalty, to sticking by my side no matter what the odds, to risking his life for mine…he'd do it in a heartbeat. And want nothing in return."

"Yeah, I don't understand it either," Ron muttered. Arthur ignored him.

"One time," Arthur said softly, "we had a banquet to celebrate a peace treaty. Merlin came rushing into the hall, babbling about how my chalice was poisoned." He chuckled sadly. "I thought he had gone mad. My father demanded that he drink the liquid in the goblet to determine whether he was telling the truth or not."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "How terrible!" she breathed.

"I tried to convince my father not to make him drink it," Arthur said softly, his voice haunted. "I tried to convince Merlin to give the goblet back to me, to let me drink from it. But he refused."

"Was it poisoned?" Harry asked.

Arthur nodded slowly, his eyes holding a faraway pain, as if remembering something he'd rather forget. "At first, everything was fine," he said shakily. "And then he started choking…coughing…he was holding his throat and the pain on his face…" He shuddered. "He could barely breathe. He collapsed."

"So what happened?" Ron asked, drawn into the story.

Either Arthur didn't hear him or was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the emotions that were rampant in his voice. "All I could think of was that he was going to die. Gaius said that the poison he had drunk induced a…" his voice faltered, "…a slow and painful death." Hermione, not even realizing what she was doing, placed a gentle hand on his arm, comforting him. "I-I couldn't imagine that, couldn't bear the thought of Merlin writhing in agony, dying a terrible death. And all because he had the courage, the sheer loyalty, to tell me of his suspicions. It…was terrifying," Arthur admitted, his eyes glassy. "No one has ever made such a sacrifice for me…You should have seen him, it was terrible to have to watch, and Gaius and Gwen have both told me that it got even worse as time wore on.

"He was hot and sweaty and he couldn't breathe but in small, painful gasps. He tossed and turned and groaned in pain. I couldn't bear to see him so broken."

Seeing that Arthur had never truly come to terms with this part of his past and with the emotions and fears surrounding it, Hermione was shocked to see how Arthur had opened up and let out this flood of memories and fear wash out of him so unhindered. "What happened, Arthur?"

Shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a heavy weight, Arthur responded, "I found the antidote and Merlin was fine."

Hermione nodded, realizing that Arthur was very embarrassed about his outburst and that his willingness to talk about his experience had come to a hasty end. She knew that they would be getting no more of this story tonight.

"If you ever," he said severely, pointing a finger at each one of the Hogwarts students in turn, "—EVER—tell Merlin anything I said, I will have all FOUR of you in the stocks for a week. Is. That. Understood?"

All three of Arthur's dinner guests hastily nodded their heads. "I wanted to thank you, Hermione, and Harry—and yes, even you, Ronald, for bringing your feelings to my attention. I want to commend you for sticking by your friend."

Hesitantly, Hermione asked, "That wasn't all you wanted to say was it, Arthur?"

The prince shook his head wearily. "Hermione, you very bluntly told me that I treat Merlin as a servant. He is a servant. But you also told me that not only is he a servant, but he is a person too. I guess I never really thought about how all this might make him feel…I mean, look at him. He's always such a happy-go-lucky idiot, always smiling and oblivious. I never thought of him being upset or stressed out…I mean, he has a lot of duties cleaning up after me, but unlike me, the weight of Camelot does not rest on his shoulders."

Ron snorted slightly. "You'd be surprised," he muttered.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"I said is there any pie?" Ron quickly improvised.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "After all that food, you're still hungry? Never mind. What I was saying was that I guess I saw him as a person, but not the kind of person that is complex, that has deeper feelings than happy or sad. And while I'm not sure I've reached the point where I can say I am friends with Merlin, I can honestly say that you three—especially you, Hermione—have opened my eyes to the fact that he is more than just Merlin the servant. And I will try to see past that as best I can."

Hermione softly added, "And perhaps, sooner than you think, you may reach the point where you can call Merlin your friend."

Arthur grunted uncomfortably. "Perhaps," he muttered.

"Even now," Hermione went on, "I believe that you really are Merlin's friend, even if you can't—or won't—see it yet. Arthur, you said it yourself. He is loyal and treats you not like Arthur the Prince but Arthur the Person. I'm not saying you should turn your whole relationship around and start treating him like the prince, but if you would take the time to listen to him, give him the time of day, and not lord over him every second, not push him away—I believe that would mean more to him than anything. He's given you everything—nearly given his life for you—and if you could give him a little back, even if it is just offering your hand in friendship, that would go a long way."

There was a long silence as Arthur contemplated her words. "You are a wise woman, Hermione Granger," Arthur said slowly, admirably.

Hermione blushed crimson and Ron scowled. This caused Harry to snort in laughter. Seeing their petty bickering begin to spark to life again after such an intense, emotionally raw conversation made Harry want to chuckle. Hermione rolled her eyes distastefully at Ron.

"She's not wise," Ron said affectionately. "Just a know-it-all."

Harry burst into laughter, which apparently was quite contagious. Hermione and Ron joined in, which prompted Arthur to chortle as well.

Without warning, in the midst of the newfound frivolity, an intense, sickening, crippling jolt of pain ripped through Harry's forehead, causing his vision to go blurry. He felt himself toppling, heard the startled shouts of his friends. Now only seeing black, he more sensed than felt the thud as he landed on the hard stone floor, cracking the back of his head against the stone. After that, awareness slipped from his feeble grasp and he felt himself falling into darkness, a terrible, stinging pain shooting like lightening on his forehead, even in unconsciousness.

* * *

_There is a snake._

_The snake is giant and its eyes are black._

_The black eyes of the snake seem kind and welcoming._

_Those kind an welcoming black eyes of the giant snake make you want to trust it, to love it, to embrace it._

_The snake is harmless._

_It moves closer._

_The eyes are still black._

_Those black eyes are so shiny you can see your reflection in them as if each black, unblinking orb is a mirrored ball._

_The kind of mirrored ball that sucks all light into it so that no light can escape._

_The mirrored ball is enchanting._

_Now the ball is a pupil._

_The pupil is dilated tremendously._

_There is but a tiny, thin, thread-like sapphire line around the black, mirrored pupil._

_The pupil begins to shrink._

_The iris of the eye is blue in its purest, most intense form._

_What raw power in the blue eyes!_

_The pupil is gone and all that is left is the blue, radiating a terrible, terrible power that is raw and frightening and beautiful._

_From that blue, a snake slithers._

_This is an even bigger snake._

_Its eyes are red and in them torment, unspeakable pain can be found._

_A screaming face burns in flames in the crimson depths of the enormous snake's burgundy eyes._

_The snake's face begins to morph._

_The snake's face elongates and its body begins to grow arms and legs._

_The snake sheds its jet-black scales._

_Underneath those scales is skin._

_The skin under the scales is whiter than death._

_The face is hideous, terrifying, and oh so evil._

_The person in the eyes continues to scream…_

_He is in agony._

_He will die._

* * *

Morgana woke up, her chest heaving in panic.

Of all the nightmares that she had ever encountered, this was by far the worst, the most terrifying, the most real.

She was so horrified, so consumed with raw, relentless terror, that she could not even scream. She just lay there in bed, hyperventilating, drenched in a cold sweat, sobbing uncontrollably. Her stomach rebelled and she retched over the edge of her bed, still crying from the very depths of her soul. She heard Gwen running for her, but she could not even roll over to face her handmaiden.

When Gwen reached her, Morgana clung to her, heaving, her stomach emptied. She dug her nails into Gwen's shoulders as if clinging onto her maid for life. She tried to speak, terror dripping with every syllable.

"Eeer…" she gasped, unable to form words.

"My Lady!" Gwen sounded so scared, apparently afraid Morgana was having some sort of fit. "I'm going to get Gaius!"

"NOOOOO!" Morgana shrieked, her voice returning. Gwen jumped, startled by the piercing outburst and terrified for her mistress. "No, Gwen, don't leave me," she sobbed. "You have to warn him—he is going to suffer…suffer, he will die…you have to…so dark…the snake…death…the pale man…red eyes…he's going to kill him…he's going to die…to hurt…suffer…torture…YOU HAVE TO WARN HIM!"

"What? Who?" Gwen fretted, nearly as frantic as Morgana.

"He is in terrible danger…die…torment…you have to save him, Gwen!"

"Morgana, please!" Gwen pleaded. "You have to wake up! Who do you want me to warn? Arthur? Uther? This is just a dream! Please, Morgana…what is it you want me to do? Who did you dream is going to die?"

Morgana whimpered softly, the sound nearly breaking Gwen's heart. The tremor in her voice and the finality of her next words shook Gwen even more. "Merlin."

"What?" Gwen said shakily.

"MERLIN!" Morgana screamed. "Merlin…he is going to…to suffer…Merlin…is going to die!" Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Morgana whispered, "Warn him…"

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.


	10. The Nightmare Begins

Arthur had no idea what happened. One moment, he and the three visitors were laughing—finally relieving some of that blasted tension that had been hovering over the four of them since they first met—and the next, Harry was gripping his forehead and falling out of his chair and onto the stone floor, cracking the back of his skull against the floor. Arthur jumped up, but Hermione and Ron beat him to the unconscious boy.

"Harry?" Hermione asked frantically, exchanging a terrified, almost knowing look with Ron. "Harry, can you hear me?"

Arthur knelt on the floor and placed a steady hand on the youth's forehead. "He hasn't got a fever," he said slowly. "He just…collapsed."

"We can  _see_ that!" Hermione snapped. Arthur looked up from Harry's prone body, as did Hermione, and met the girl's fearful brown eyes with a start. Looking ashamed, Hermione muttered, "I'm sorry, Sire, I just…" She gazed worriedly at her friend.

"No need to apologize, Hermione," Arthur quickly assured her.

During this quick exchange, Ron was shaking Harry's shoulders, trying to rouse him. "C'mon, mate, wake up."

The three of them jumped as a shout—one of fear or of pain, Arthur couldn't quite discern—escaped Harry's lips. He began to writhe slowly, his brow beading with a cold sweat. His fingers twitched and a vein in his neck seized up as he turned his head sharply to the side, as if struggling to escape from something terrible looming above him.

At almost the same moment that Harry's fit began, another scream resounded from somewhere down the hall. His eyes wide, Arthur breathed, "Morgana." He jumped up and was almost out of the door when he remembered Harry, who was still in the midst of some sort of fit. "Stay with him," he ordered curtly. He rushed out of the door and into the serving boy that had been waiting right outside in case Arthur needed them.

"Sire?" the boy said hesitantly, trying without success to subtly look around the prince's broad frame and into the chambers where Ron and Hermione were trying unsuccessfully to rouse Harry. "What's going on; are you alright? I heard a scream—"

Arthur didn't give the lad time to finish, needing to get to Morgana. He was sure that Gwen was already there, comforting the girl that had grown to be like his sister, but he had to see her, see that she was alright, with his own eyes. "Go fetch Gaius," he ordered. "Tell him that Harry has passed out and is having some sort of…seizure and that Morgana has woken up screaming again, probably from a nightmare. Tell him to bring Merlin with him, as hard as it may be for me to believe, the idiot might be of some use since we have two patience." He said all this very quickly. The servant blinked rapidly a few times, as if trying to process and interpret the orders he had been given.

"Now!" Arthur barked, perhaps a bit more gruff than he had originally intended.

Without another second of hesitation, the boy jumped at the command, dipping his head in respect to Arthur and darting down the hallway in the direction of the physician's chambers. Giving one last glance at the three teenagers, Arthur ducked out of the room and tore down the corridor in the direction of the scream and contemplating the odds of both Harry and Morgana falling to some sort of delusion simultaneously. It was odd…and, if he were honest, a bit creepy as well.

He reached Morgana's room and barged in without knocking, common courteously having been overrun by an intense desire to make sure his friend was safe. In all the years that Morgana had suffered from nightmares, however, nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him when he barged through the , who, with his evening off, had decided to use that time wisely and try and seek out some sort of solution for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Although he personally had no idea where to begin in order to help the trio, he had a hunch that there was someone—someone much older and more knowledgeable when it came to magic and the Old Religion than Merlin—that could give him a starting place. As he took the flaming torch off the wall, checking over his shoulder to make sure the guards watching over the entrance to the cave deep beneath the castle, Merlin snorted in derision. Sure, he would receive some sort of answer—but it would be so convoluted and deeply wrapped in riddles that it would take him ages to discover just what it was that he needed to do. He started down the massive, dark stone staircase, holding the torch out before him, its flickering, dancing flames his only source of light. Still, he thought, any advice was better than none, no matter how confusing.

* * *

He reached the end of the staircase and emerged through a colossal arch and onto a sturdy stone cliff that jutted out from the floor of the tunnel and over the rocky bottom of the underground cave far below.

Kilgharra was waiting for him, perched on a large slab of stone in the middle of the enormous cavern. The Great Dragon's forelegs were stretched comfortably in front of the gigantic reptile, his heavily taloned feet crossed almost delicately before him. Golden eyes, bigger than Merlin's head, watched the warlock from a vantage point high above, due to the creature's size and the length of his serpentine, graceful neck that held that massive, horned head up proud and high.

"Young warlock," the dragon almost purred, dipping his head down to where he was almost face-to-face with Merlin. The boy fought the urge to step back. Although he had known the dragon for several months and had come to realize that Kilgharra was not interested in harming—or eating—him, the fact that a giant reptile with a head twice the size of Merlin's body still sent a shiver of uncertainty down Merlin's spine. Almost as if sensing the wizard's discomfort, the Great Dragon backed its head away, still keeping it at roughly the same level as Merlin's.

"I have come to ask for your advice," Merlin said, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread at the same time. While he hoped that the dragon would be able to give him some answers or at least a starting place for figuring this out, another part of him almost wished that the dragon would not be able to help, or would at least be delayed a few weeks in thinking of a solution. Merlin knew it was terribly selfish of him, but he couldn't help the sadness that tugged at his heart when he thought about losing the three people that he could be himself around, his new friends who both accepted him for who he was—even hero-worshipped him for it, to a certain extent—and, most importantly, who understood. He wasn't sure he was ready to lose that bond quite yet.

He thought of their story, however, and of all that Harry had been through—of what they  _all_ had been through. He thought of the stories of pain and suffering that he had heard, about how this evil, monstrous excuse for a sorcerer, Lord Voldemort, had ripped apart families, murdered innocent men, women, and children, destroyed lives, and driven a fear so deep into the hearts of his followers and enemies alike that even ten years after his disappearance, feared to say his name. Merlin shuddered to think about what would happen in the future if Harry Potter hadn't been around to stop Voldemort.

"Of course you have," the dragon said smoothly. "I had a feeling you'd be coming."

"So you know why I'm here?" Merlin asked, surprised. Sometimes he wondered how a creature, despite how powerful, contained hundreds of miles beneath the surface of the earth, could know so much.

Kilgharra snorted. "I said I knew you'd be coming, Merlin, not that I knew  _why_  you were coming. If I knew  _that_ , I could have avoided this ridiculous conversation altogether."

Feeling a bit silly but more patronized than anything, Merlin wanted to know, "How was it you knew I was coming?"

"Just as you have the ability to sense magic when it draws near, Merlin, so do I. Although I do not know exactly what has brought you here to me—although I highly doubt it is merely a social call—I sensed a powerful magic entering Camelot a few days ago. And more often than not, young warlock, when magic of any kind comes to Camelot, trouble brews, and when trouble is brewing, you always seem to think that I have all the answers."

Merlin's brow wrinkled as he mentally went over all the multiple times he had been aided by the dragon. "But…you  _do_  always have the answers," the boy said.

At this, the dragon laughed, its low, throaty chuckle sounding more like a growl than anything else. "You put too much faith in others with magic, Merlin, even in me. But in contrast, you do not put enough faith in yourself."

Merlin thought about his earlier conversation from the Hogwarts students and how he had told them that he didn't think he had it in him to help them out much. He had openly admitted that he didn't have as much faith in himself as they put in him.

"Perhaps not," Merlin said slowly, trying to gauge the way the conversation was going and figure out how to best bring about the topic of the time-traveling trio. "But having too much faith in yourself is also a bad thing, isn't it? It constitutes pride."

"And what do you know about the difference between pride and humility?" Kilgharra challenged.

Merlin scoffed, "I know what pride looks like. I have to live with Arthur every day."

"Hmmm." Kilgharra neither agreed to or refuted the jab at the prince, but instead changed the subject, asking, "What is it that you have come to ask, Merlin?"

Taking a deep breath, Merlin quickly but thoroughly told the Great Dragon of the happenings of the past several days, from Gwen's discovery of the threesome in the corridor near Morgana's chambers to their conversation just a few hours before. Merlin decided to leave out all the three had told him about the great and powerful warlock he would become because thinking about what he was supposed to become made him feel more than a bit uncomfortable. It had been enough pressure just to know that the Druids had prophecies about him, the great Emrys, and that it was his destiny to protect Arthur and help bring magic back to Camelot. Hearing all the mind-boggling stories about how famous he was, thousands of years in the future and how his legacy would live on forever was enough to make him sweat. For someone who had come to Camelot to get  _away_  from the problems his magic was causing him, he sure had a lot resting on his shoulders and abilities.

Kilgharra listened to his tale with rapt attention, his golden eyes never once leaving Merlin's face. When the boy had finished, the dragon sat in silence for a long moment.

"Well…do you know anything that could help?" Merlin asked hesitantly.

Kilgharra's eyes flashed dangerously. "This is not something to be treated lightly, young warlock. The fabric of time is being hemmed and altered, and these loose threads are working against your destiny and the future of Albion."

Merlin glared at the dragon, indignant. "Harry, Hermione, and Ron would never work against me!"

"Not intentionally," Kilgharra agreed. "But this young witch Hermione seems like a very wise girl. When she said that their being here, in their past and our present, in Camelot is dangerous, she was not exaggerating. In fact, one might go as far as to say that she was underestimating the problem."

"But if we can get them back…" Merlin began hopefully, his words trailing off into silence as Kilgharra shook his great head.

"The damage will have already been done," he said.

"What caused them to come here?" Merlin mused. "Time travel is very difficult to do, something only someone acquainted with the Old Religion could dream of doing. Surely you're not suggesting that they found their way here intentionally?"

"No, only a creature of great magic of the Old Religion could have sent them here, like you or me."

Merlin shook his head hastily. "I'm not all that powerful. And besides, I wouldn't have messed with the future even if I was that strong in my magic."

"Again, do not underestimate your powers, Merlin. You are so much stronger than you know—yours is a great destiny."

"I know," Merlin said wryly, "so I've been told."

"Obviously  _I_ didn't summon these three magicians here, and neither did you. Who else do you know of that has power enough to summon people from the future into the past? Someone with great ties to the Old Religion, perhaps even a priestess of its ways?" the dragon pressed, waiting for Merlin to catch his meaning.

A few seconds later, Merlin's blue eyes seemed to darken when the realization of who Kilgharra was talking about struck the warlock. "Nimueh?" he breathed, and Kilgharra inclined his head in acknowledgement. "But…what would she want with Harry, Ron, and Hermione? Why bring them here, back in time?"

"I do not know all the answers, Merlin," the dragon said, shifting positions slightly, which Merlin knew was a sign that he would be taking flight very soon. "But I do know this—the fate of not only  _their_ world is in peril, but our world and the future of Albion and yours and Arthur's destiny. I will help you in whatever ways I can, but you must not be afraid to do whatever it takes to make this right, no matter the cost."

"But I don't even know where to start!" Merlin protested as Kilgharra moved again, preparing to lift off.

Kilgharra eyed Merlin with a grave stare. "Young warlock, you know who is behind this. You have a starting point."

"Nimueh?" Merlin repeated, the thought of facing the woman who had tried to kill him and Arthur several times, a very powerful sorceress and a priestess of the Old Religion. "But—but I have no idea where to find her."

"Young warlock, if Nimueh is truly behind this, there will be no need to find her. Oh, no, Merlin…she will most definitely come to  _you_."

"I…don't understand," Merlin admitted. "Why would she do that?"

"Merlin, you have a great destiny and have immense powers that Nimueh covets. She has worked against you do destroy you and your destiny before, and it would be foolish to assume that she is not trying again. She will make herself known to you when the time comes, and you must be ready for her. Whatever her reason for bringing these three young wizards here at this, such a dangerous time for them, it has something, if not everything, to do with you."

Merlin nodded slowly. "Maybe she knows of what will happen in the future, with Voldemort and everything, and she could be trying to get them exposed and killed by Uther so that they will have never been born."

"It is a good assumption, Merlin, except that killing the three of them, even in the past, will not prevent their births. No, the only way to stop someone from being born is to cut off their family line and it would have been far easier to kill one of their ancestors, not the the wizards themselves."

Merlin wondered how Hermione would react to learn that she had made such an error in her logic. Although they hadn't known each other for long, Merlin could tell that she hated being wrong. "So what would happen if they died?"

"They would do just that—die. It would be as if they had died back in their time, except their bodies would never be found in the future because they are, as of now, in the past."

Merlin shook his head wearily. "This is all a bit too confusing for me," he complained.

"Perhaps," the dragon said, spreading his great wings and lifting off of the rock. He raised his voice so that Merlin could hear him over the heavy pounding of his wings. "But it is up to you, young warlock, to discover what is going on and to put a stop to it. You must get the three visitors back to their time."

"Wait!" Merlin cried, having just remembered something else. "Can I bring them to meet you?"

Frowning, Kilgharra replied, "You must do what you think is right, young warlock. Just bear in mind that with every being those three make contact with, the more they mess with the past."

"I will be careful," Merlin promised.

"We'll see, young warlock. We shall see," the dragon said, flying off into the darkness of the underground cave, his chains rattling behind burst into Morgana's room to nearly slip on a puddle of sick on the floor. Hurrying to her side, where Gwen fussing about with the covers, Arthur gazed down at Morgana's sleeping—or was she unconscious?—form. "Is she ill?" he asked worriedly.  _Of course she's ill, you idiot,_ he mentally berated himself. _There wouldn't be sick on the floor if she wasn't._  Rephrasing his question, he asked, "What happened?"

* * *

"Sire," Guinevere said, making to stand, but Arthur shook his head.

"No need for formalities, Gwen. What happened?"

Looking as if she were about to cry, Gwen said, "She woke up screaming, like she does often. This time, however, she wouldn't wake up. Her eyes were open but it was if she were trapped in some kind of nightmare. Whatever she dreamed about scared her so much that she…she got sick. I wasn't sure what to do, I couldn't just leave her here alone to fetch someone…I'm sorry, I…"

"Guinevere," Arthur said sternly, "you have  _nothing_ to be sorry for. I wouldn't have wanted to leave her alone either." He paused. "She fell back asleep?"

Gwen hesitated before answering. "No, Sire, I think she passed out."

Arthur leaned over and put a hand on Morgana's forehead. Like Harry's had been, her brow was not hot but instead covered with a cold sheen of sweat. At his touch, Morgana's eyes flew open. "Arthur?" she whispered, looking confused.

"I'm here," Arthur said softly, squatting down beside the bed so he could communicate easier with her. He studied his father's ward in the flickering illumination of the bracketed candles on the walls. Her face was pale and a terrible fear rested in the depths of her green eyes. "Morgana, don't worry, I've sent for Gaius; he'll be here to attend to you—"

Eyes wide as if she had just remembered something important, Morgana shook her head. "No, not Gaius. I don't need to speak to him."

" _Morgana_ ," Arthur said in a weary tone, assuming that she was simply trying to play the hero, "you had a terrible nightmare and you even got sick. Gaius  _needs_ to look at you."

"No," Morgana breathed, sitting up in bed and ignoring Gwen who was trying in vain to make her lie back down.

"My lady, you really should lie still," Gwen advised, but Morgana simply grew more agitated.

"Gaius should be here soon," Arthur said soothingly.

Her eyes flashing in the dim light from the candles, Morgana said, "It's not Gaius I need to talk to!"

Gwen glanced between Morgana and Arthur, wondering if this had anything to do with Morgana's earlier ramblings.

"Alright," Arthur said, putting his hands in the air as if surrendering. "Who is it that you  _have_ to talk to so badly?"

Morgana stared off into space as if thinking about something that she would rather just forget, fear swimming amongst the unshed tears in her olive eyes. "Merlin."

* * *

Merlin strode into Gaius's chambers, not expecting to see Ron and Hermione, as well as the physician, waiting for him around Gaius's table. "Er…what's going on?" he asked, seeing the grim looks on their faces. He looked around. "Where's Harry?"

"In your bed," Gaius answered promptly.

"Ah," Merlin said simply, glancing around to see if anyone was going to explain further. When he realized that no one was going to any great lengths to satisfy his curiosity, he prompted, "Not that I'm not…er…happy to let him use it, but  _why_ exactly is Harry sleeping in my bed?"

"He is suffering from the scar's effects on his forehead," Gaius said. Merlin exchanged glances with Ron and Hermione, knowing that this had to be something to do with the pain he had felt in his scar earlier. Was Voldemort somehow getting stronger? Angrier? Closer? Why was Harry being affected by the cursed scar so much, now of all times? Merlin wondered if all this business with Nimueh had anything to do with it.

"Is he alright?" Merlin wanted to know.

"Yes, I've given him a sleeping draft so he should sleep through tomorrow. I apologize, Merlin, for giving him your bed, but after the…episode…he suffered, I would like to keep a closer eye on him. I'm wondering if I missed something in my initial exam. This scar could have indeed left some residual dark magic that I simply missed on my first go."

Merlin again changed worried looks with the other two wizards. He had a feeling that they needed to tell Gaius everything—before it went too far and they got caught in their lies. Merlin made a mental note to talk to Ron, Harry, and Hermione about it later—he was sure they could be trusted. After all, although Uther might not believe them, he was sure Gaius would, and he would want the balance restored to time as well.

"It's alright," Merlin said quickly.

"We told Gaius that you can take Harry's bed in our chambers for the night, if you want," Ron said, although rather begrudgingly. Merlin saw him sneaking a rather irritable look at Hermione, who looked rather flushed although Merlin couldn't fathom why. Noticing the exchange and Merlin's obliviousness to the attraction Hermione felt for him and the jealousness that Ron had because Hermione liked Merlin, Gaius sighed wearily and shot Merlin an exasperated look that said, "You just don't get it, do you?"

Merlin, more confused than ever, nodded. "Right, that would be great, I'm sure there's loads to talk about," he said pointedly. "Shall we go?"

"Ah, Merlin, before you go gallivanting off to your slumber party, you should know that the Lady Morgana had another nightmare, although this one far worse than any she's ever experienced.

Merlin knew that Gaius suspected Morgana of being a seer, but he wasn't quite sure what this information about Morgana's latest dream had to do with him. "I…er, I'm sorry," he said.

"She woke up screaming and became ill she was so upset. Merlin, she was asking for  _you_  when she woke up."

Merlin's eyes widened. Now  _this_ he would have never seen coming!

"Me?" he said. "Why on earth would she ask for me?"

Gaius sighed. "I'm not entirely sure. She would not even allow me to treat her until I promised that I would send you along to her chambers as soon as you returned from wherever it is you go when you run off." Merlin glanced at the ground, although he didn't admit that he had gone to Kilgharra for advice—Gaius didn't even know that Merlin knew the Great Dragon existed. Why he hadn't told him, he didn't know. It just didn't seem terribly important.

"Ah…right. Well, I suppose I'll go there right away…" Merlin's voice trailed off as he tried to work out why on earth Morgana would want to see him of all people. As he was about to leave Gaius's chambers, the old man called out to him.

"Merlin! Arthur is  _very_ interested in why Morgana was calling for you. He knows that if Uther finds out, you could be in grave danger because the king would almost certainly misinterpret the situation and assume that you and Morgana are…together."

Merlin's face went red. "That's ridiculous. I mean, sure, she's pretty, but she's like royalty, and besides…"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Merlin," Gaius said. Ron and Hermione listened to the conversation in interest but made no move to get involved. This was between Gaius and Merlin. "Just be grateful that Arthur is not telling his father about Morgana demanding to see you, although he does plan on staying in the room when Morgana has a word with you."

Merlin nodded. "Of course."

"Well, off you go, then!" Gaius said, shooing his ward away. "Oh, and Merlin, do come back here and tell me what happened before you go to bed."

Merlin nodded.

"Oh, and Merlin?"

Merlin sighed. "Yes, Gaius?"

"Be careful."

Grinning cheekily, Merlin retorted, "Oh, come on, Gaius, you know I always am." As the servant left the room, Gaius shook his head indulgently.

"Indeed you are, Merlin…and  _that's_ what worries me."


	11. Hide and Seek

Nimueh stood perfectly still, her intense blue gaze never wavering from the circle drawn on the ground in front of her. Her perfectly formed lips formed the well-rehearsed words as she stared at the circle she had made in the earth with her magic only moments before. Around her, the Darkling Woods were alive with creatures of the night, but as soon as she began to recite the incantation to lead her ally into the past through the mists of time, all noise stopped. Even the wind seemed to cease its whistling. Her voice strong and powerful, Nimueh began softly, her voice growing louder with each word until she was screaming at the sky, arms outstretched. " _Canlyn 'm sillafa a 'm lais drwo 'r chrwybrau chan amsera at asetha 'm i mewn Camelot Iôn Voldemort!_ "

Almost immediately, a thick mist sprouted from the air, from the ground, from the night itself. It writhed and twisted in thick, vaporous columns, spreading to the inner edges of the circle but not beyond. From within the folds of the masking fog, a form began to emerge, flimsy and ghostlike at first but gaining solidity rapidly. Soon the mists of time cleared, dispersed out of the circle as if pushed away by a burst of air as Nimueh completed her spell, " _Chwala chrwybrau chan amsera , arhosed._ "

From out of the circle stepped a man, clothed in black robes that fell to his feet. He was pale, skeletal, and reeked of raw malice. In his eyes—those intense, ghastly red eyes—raged an evil so immense, so all-consuming that one could find themselves going mad if they stared at them too long.

Nimueh, however, did not falter as her sapphire eyes met Lord Voldemort's red ones. In fact, she seemed slightly amused at his dramatic appearance, cocking her right eyebrow and barely containing a smirk. If Voldemort noticed, he did not acknowledge her cheeky gestures. Instead, he looked deeper into the priestess's eyes, sensing a powerful but controlled magic within her. "Lord Voldemort," Nimueh said airily, not leaving his steady, glaring gaze. "It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh."

Voldemort's thin, cruel lips curled into a slight smile. "Nimueh, priestess of the Old Religion," he acknowledged her. "I assure you…the pleasure is mine."

* * *

Arthur glared at Morgana, who, now sitting on her bed, was wearing a long, rich lavender robe over her bedclothes. "I'm staying, Morgana, and that's  _final_."

Morgana scoffed. "Arthur, if I needed to speak to you, I'd talk to you."

Frustrated, Arthur countered, "Whatever you can say to  _my_ servant, you can say to  _me_."

Morgana lifted an elegant eyebrow. Thankfully, she was much calmer than she had been when Gwen had first found her. The sick had been mopped off the floor and Morgana had begrudgingly allowed Gaius to examine her but only after making him promise that Merlin would come in and speak to her as soon as possible. Arthur couldn't fathom what about, but he knew that if his father got a whiff of this, Merlin could very well end up in the dungeon—or, depending on how foul of a mood his father was in, at the chopping block.

"Arthur," Morgana said, trying to reason with the man she had grown up with, "there's nothing going on between Merlin and I. You don't have to worry; I barely know the boy."

Arthur sighed heavily. "I have no doubt that you're telling the truth, Morgana. For someone of your…status… _Merlin_ would be the last option on your mind. But that's not the point. If my father hears that you woke up in the middle of the night, demanding to see Merlin, you could cost him his life."

Morgana smiled, both eyebrows now raised. "Arthur Pendragon," she said sweetly—too sweetly for Arthur's liking—"you  _do_ care!"

Arthur scowled. "I just don't want to see an innocent person get hurt because of a misunderstanding."

Morgana grinned knowingly. "Of course you don't."

Arthur shook his head, annoyed. Why did Morgana always have to be so bloody difficult? It wasn't as if this was something that happened every so often, but his father's ward was constantly challenging  _everyone_ , never afraid to assert her own opinion and always quick to be smug or tease. It was infuriating at times! What annoyed him the most about this side of Morgana, however, was that she had an uncanny ability to see the truth in others, even when they refused to see it in themselves.

Arthur leaned back in the chair he was sitting in, biting his lip in thought. Gwen had told him that Morgana had woken up, screaming about something terrible that she had seen in her dream. Then she had yelled for Merlin.

Arthur shuddered—those dreams that Morgana suffered from, they unnerved him. She had had nightmares for as long as he could remember, but the older she got, the more terrifying and  _real_  the nightmares seemed to become; the more they terrified her. Arthur was beginning to wonder if there was more to her nightmares than everyone thought. There had been several times when Morgana had warned him about something and her warnings almost always seemed to come true. Could Morgana actually be seeing glimpses of the future in her dreams? The thought was terrifying for Arthur because if she was, and Uther found out, the king would most certainly interpret it as magic. And as much as Arthur would like to say that his father would not condemn Morgana for something she could not control, he wasn't entirely sure how his father would react.

So he had kept his suspicions to himself, too afraid to voice them out loud to anyone, although he had come rather close to mentioning it to Gaius a few times. He just couldn't bear to put a voice to a prospect so terrifying.

Arthur had been looking at Morgana the whole time he was thinking, looking at her, but not actually seeing her. Morgana seemed to be a bit put off by his uncharacteristic behavior and quickly drew his attention away from his disturbing thoughts and back to the matter at hand. "Arthur? What is the matter with you?"

He shifted in the chair a bit, watching Morgana's expression carefully. "You had a dream about me, didn't you, Morgana?"

Morgana looked shocked. "How did you come to this conclusion?" she demanded.

"Because," Arthur said cockily, "you fancy me. It only makes sense that you'd dream about me."

Morgana made a face. "Hardly. And that wasn't a good enough answer. Why do you think I dreamed about you?"

Rolling his eyes at her obliviousness to how much she actually liked him, Arthur answered, "Because whenever you have a bad dream about me and try to warn me about it, I never listen."

Morgana shrugged slightly. "So? That just means you're an arrogant blockhead who won't acknowledge what anyone else has to say."

At her words, Arthur was reminded of his various conversations with Hermione Granger. He was used to Morgana speaking to him in this way, but for Hermione to do so, for a commoner…it was different. Good different—it seemed to deflate him a bit and bring him back to earth. When Morgana teased him, however, it only served to make him want to be even  _more_ annoying. "Thanks, Morgana," he said airily, not even pretending to take offense. "I don't know where I'd be without your cheerful, kind words of wisdom."

"I'm sure you don't," Morgana half-smiled. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"Well, that's because you haven't given me the chance!" Arthur cried, indignant. "You keep interrupting me to comment on what a big-headed fool you think I am!" Morgana smirked but motioned for him to continue. Shaking his head in defeat, Arthur answered, "You obviously think that Merlin will listen to your nightmares and be able to convince me that something bad  _is_ going to happen to me."

Morgana rolled her eyes, but her voice was a bit unsteady when she spoke again. Arthur could see that he had tread on uncomfortable ground, suggesting that Morgana was actually seeing things that would happen. "Don't be stupid, Arthur," she retorted saucily, but Arthur could see the insecurity in her olive gaze, "it's not like I actually  _believe_  that my dreams are going to come true." By the deep fear in her eyes, however, Arthur knew that she did. "It's just…when I wake up from one of my nightmares, everything is so fresh…and so real. I am just so scared that something bad  _is_ going to happen that it clouds my better judgment."

Arthur decided not to press the issue any further, although he knew that if what she was saying were true, she would not still be terrified about whatever she had dreamt. He teasingly said, "So you admit that you were dreaming about me."

Morgana studied him seriously for a second, and Arthur began to wonder if he had said the right thing. The mischievous gleam took to her face a moment later, though, and she gave in. "Sure, Arthur, if that's what makes you feel like a big, strong knight."

Arthur grinned triumphantly. "If your dream was about me, you can tell me, Morgana. You said it yourself, you don't believe your dreams to be anything other than dreams. So you can tell me. I promise, I won't be too scared."

Morgana glared at him, admonishing him for taking something that had upset her so lightly. "Fine," she sniffed. "I had a dream that a sorcerer came to Camelot and turned you into a slimy, green frog…maybe just this one time, my dream will come true," she grinned cheekily. "A girl can hope, can't she?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I try."

Now that the tension between the two of them had eased some, Arthur approached the sensitive topic once more. "Morgana, whatever you have to say, I promise, it won't leave these walls. I feel it is my duty to remain in the room while you speak with  _my_  servant. After all, if my father  _does_ somehow find out about this, I can tell him that I was in the room with the two of you and  _nothing_  happened."

Sighing, Morgana finally gave in. "Fine. But I don't think you'll be too pleased to hear what I've got to say."

At that moment, there was a soft, almost hesitant knock at the door. Morgana sat up straighter, gave Arthur a withering warning glare, and said, "Who is it?"

There was a slight pause and then the two of them heard the soft reply. "Merlin."

"Come in," Morgana ordered, and the door creaked open, Merlin stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Merlin entered Morgana's chambers nervously, feeling sorely out of place. He saw the ward herself sitting on her bed and Arthur seated in a chair near her. Shutting the door behind him, he saw Arthur look at him with a curious glance. At least he didn't seem to be angry—that was a good sign. He just hoped that whatever it was Morgana had to say to him didn't make Arthur's anger flare up again—Merlin was ready for things to be right between them again.

"Sire," Merlin acknowledged stiffly, nodding in Arthur's direction. "Lady Morgana." Morgana nodded politely back, and Merlin said, "Gaius…he said you wanted to see me?"

Morgana nodded, suddenly looking less sure of herself. She glanced at Arthur as if imploring something of him, but he shook his head patiently but adamantly. Although he denied whatever silent request she had been sending him, he did, however, get up from the chair and motion Merlin to sit down. Merlin, slightly taken aback at Arthur giving up his seat, lowered himself down so that he was sitting facing Morgana.

"Thank you for coming, Merlin," Morgana said. Arthur leaned lightly on Merlin's chair, his right hand gripping the back of it loosely. His keen eyes moved between Merlin and Morgana. "I—I just had to warn you," she said, her eyes watering up. "I know they're just dreams, they're not real…but…it was so horrible, so real! It just wouldn't be  _right_ not warning you!"

Taken aback by the raw emotion in Morgana's voice, Merlin glanced up to see Arthur still leaning against the chair, his gaze locked on Morgana's distressed face. Turning back to Morgana, Merlin ventured, "I…I don't understand…my lady. What exactly are you warning me about?"

Taking a deep breath, Morgana hurriedly began to tell of her dream as if aching to get it out and over with. "I dreamt of a snake," she said. "A giant snake. It had black eyes that turned blue and then from the blue came another snake, this one with red eyes. The snake morphed into a man…" her voice trailed off, her eyes wide and far away as if she were reliving the nightmare once more.

"Morgana," Arthur said suddenly, causing Merlin to jump. Morgana's eyes darted nervously above Merlin's head to meet Arthur's. "You don't have to keep talking about it if it upsets you. It was only just a dream, remember?"

Morgana nodded slowly. "I…I know. But I need to get it out." She locked eyes with Merlin again. "Merlin…the man…he was terrifying. And in his eyes I saw fires of torture…and pain…and unspeakable death. And…and…in those fires, screaming and suffering, was a person…"

"Morgana, it's okay," Arthur spoke up again, his voice soft and comforting. "You  _really_ don't have to try and convince Merlin to look after me. I'll be careful. Really."

Morgana shook her head. "It wasn't you that was suffering, Arthur." Gazing steadily at Merlin, she went on, "Merlin, that man…that beast…in its eyes  _you_ were suffering."

Merlin's eyes went big as Arthur's hand clenched the back of the chair tightly as if he was tensing up. "Me?" he ask softly.

"Merlin…I know it's just a dream, but it was so terrifying. So horrible! I'm sure you're not really in danger, but please…be careful. In my dream, you were in so much pain…"

Merlin swallowed with difficulty, his mind on Gaius's previous speculations that Morgana could see the future. His heart pounding madly, he managed to nod. Glancing up at Arthur, he noticed that the prince's face had grown hard and in his eyes raged several emotions that Merlin couldn't quite place.

His voice shaking slightly, Arthur asked Morgana, "You had a dream that  _Merlin_ was dying a slow and painful death?"

Merlin shifted slightly, as uncomfortable with the emotion in the prince's voice as he was with the bluntness of his words.  _A slow and painful death…_

Before Morgana could answer, footsteps could be heard echoing down the corridor leading to Morgana's room. A voice rang out, worried from outside of the door. "Morgana? Gaius, is she alright? Why did I just now find out that she was ill from that young serving boy? Why didn't you tell me as soon as you saw her?"

Inside the room, no one heard Gaius's response as they were all frozen in panic. All three knew that despite Arthur's vouching for Merlin, Uther would still find it highly suspicious that Merlin was in Morgana's room this late at night. Even if he  _was_ Arthur's servant, he was off duty and should have been with Gaius or in his bed, asleep. The footsteps grew closer and Merlin's heart pounded inside his chest.

He felt himself being hauled out of the chair by Arthur's strong hand and shoved toward the bed. "Under!" Arthur hissed, glancing at Morgana, who nodded her agreement at the plan. Merlin scurried under the bed, which was dust-free and clean, thanks to Gwen.

Two seconds later, the door burst open. "Morgana!" came King Uther's frantic voice as he strode over to the bed. Merlin held his breath, wondering if hiding under the bed had been such a good idea after all. They might have been able to come up with some story to explain Merlin's being there so late—saying that Arthur had come to get him for some reason—but if Uther found him under Morgana's bed…a death sentence for sure.

As Uther's leather boots came closer and closer to Merlin's face, the servant knew that it was too late to do anything else. All he could do was wait and hope beyond all reason that he wouldn't be discovered. If he was…he had a feeling that Morgana's nightmare would be coming true very, very soon.


	12. Harry's Dream

He was unconscious, in the midst of a nightmare, and wanting nothing more than to wake up and escape this horrid dream. No matter how hard he tried, he could not move, could not force his eyelids to open or his body to respond. Because of the sleeping draft that was weighing him down, he could not awaken, but instead remained trapped in the dark recesses of his dreams. All the while, his scar taunted him, shooting with unbearable pain—and he was able to do absolutely nothing about it.

* * *

_The tall, pale man stood beside a beautiful young woman. The two were so similar, but very different at the same time. They were both pale, both proud, and both possessed a gleam in their eyes—one pair a shocking, daunting red; the other a deep and mesmerizing blue—a gleam that spoke volumes about what lay in their hearts and desires. It was a desire for power…and revenge._

_This is where the similarities stopped. While the woman was utterly beautiful, her porcelain skin, red lips, and dark, wavy hair almost ethereal, the man was the complete opposite. His complexion was a white as chalk, his head bald, his lips thin and nostrils slits like those of a snake._

_Harry was watching them, but they didn't seem to notice that he was there. He looked around to see where he was, and discovered that they were in a cave of some sort. There was a shallow basin of water in the center of the cavern that resembled an ornate and mystical birdbath. It was filled to the brim with water. Crystals lined the walls, each emitting an eerie, yellowish glow that lit the otherwise dark cave._

_"Everything is falling swiftly into place," she said, smiling at her companion, whom Harry had recognized easily as Voldemort._

_Voldemort did not reply, but instead stood and walked over to the basin, gazing into the water for several minutes. Harry couldn't quite tell what about the water was so interesting, but he could not move closer to see even if he wanted to. His feet seemed fused to the ground._

_Voldemort looked up from the basin, back at the woman. "Are you sure this is the one you are after? He doesn't seem like the great wizard everyone reveres. Since I've arrived, I have seen no display of his magic whatsoever."_

_The woman smiled almost patronizingly at Voldemort. Harry could not believe her gall—not even Voldemort's most trusted allies would ever act so flippantly toward the dark wizard. Voldemort, however, did not seem to notice her gesture of obvious disrespect and simply drilled her with those blood-red eyes, waiting for her response._

_"It is him. You have not seen his magic, Lord Voldemort. I have. All wizards and witches must be careful whilst in Camelot and only use their magic when absolutely necessary. There has been no need for him to call upon his powers. Of course, he may very well be using them when we are not watching, but we cannot possibly scry on him and the others all day if we are to continue with our plan."_

_Voldemort did not look convinced, but he nodded anyway. "I hope you realize just how much you ask of me," he said slowly, walking back toward the woman. "For if I do indeed help you kill him, and he is really such an intricate part of history, who knows how the future will be altered?" Despite his words, Voldemort did not seemed overly concerned about how their plans—whatever they were—would affect the course of time._

_"He is a force for good," the woman all but spat, her previously controlled voice emanating a great dislike for whoever they were discussing. "Since your intentions are less than honorable, Lord Voldemort, I believe that whatever future you look forward to without the great warlock will be something to your liking." She half-smiled, and Harry had the feeling that she knew more than she was telling._

_Voldemort must have sensed it, too, for he regarded her suspiciously for several moments before answering. "Yes…I suppose so."_

_The woman's half-smile melted into a grin, but her smile unnerved Harry even more than when she was openly angry. He could sense a great, old power stirring deep within her. "And no need to remind me, Lord Voldemort, our agreement still stands. The powers of the Old Religion shall prove to be far too much for your foes who know nothing of it."_

_"Good," Voldemort answered, a twisted smile curving the corners of his mouth up slightly. Harry's stomach churned with fear. He should have known…he should have known that there was more to this than met the eye…Voldemort was in Camelot! "When do we take them?"_

_"We will wait for them to come to us," the girl replied darkly. "Believe me—they will come."_

* * *

The dream, the vision, whatever it was dissolved and Harry was thrown into the terrifying, haunting, painful night terrors once more. It was a place where nothing made sense—a place where up was down and left was right, where pain and terror mixed with scattered images to torment Harry's mind.

* * *

Arthur turned as his father entered Morgana's chambers, Gaius on his heels, a barely concealed panic on his weathered face. Arthur knew he was terrified that Merlin was going to be caught in Morgana's chambers or that Uther would find out that Morgana had woken up calling for him. When the physician entered the room, his eyes roving Morgana's chambers and seeing no sign of his ward anywhere, he visibly relaxed. Arthur just hoped that his father didn't find Merlin under the bed.

The prince had to force himself to stop thinking about what Morgana's dream had been about—at least for now. He needed to be on his toes right now, and he couldn't think fast or listen to his father when he was distracted by disturbing thoughts. He knew Morgana's words would rear into the front of his mind as soon as he relaxed so there would be plenty of time to think about them later.

The foreboding prospects pushed aside for now, Arthur almost seamlessly slipped into prince mode, his emotions put away and business brought to the front. "Father," he said, dipping his head in respect to the king. "I must…apologize. When I heard Morgana scream, I instantly told a servant to get Gaius but failed to mention you. I suppose the boy must have eventually figured it out for himself that you also needed to be told and informed you. It was my fault entirely."

Uther shook his head, placing a strong hand on Arthur's shoulder. "No need to apologize, Arthur. Your concern was first and foremost Morgana and gives me great joy that you care about her so much." The king moved toward the bed where Morgana was seated and Arthur willed himself not to glance down near the bottom of the bed.  _Stupid…why on earth did I make Merlin get under the bed? If my father finds him under there, he'll be a goner for sure._  Frustrated that in trying to keep his servant out of danger he had potentially put him in even more, Arthur cursed himself mentally.

Uther sat beside his ward on the bed, wrapping his arms around her securely. "Morgana, are you alright? I heard you were ill."

Morgana forced a smile. Arthur could tell by the stiffness of her movements and the hint of worry in her eyes that she was silently, mentally willing Uther to leave. His concern was touching but unnecessary, especially when he was less than a foot away from Merlin's hiding place. "I was, but as you can see, I am fine now. I believe my dream just shook me up."

Uther frowned. "I don't like that you are still having these dreams, Morgana."

The girl chuckled slightly. "Nor do I."

"It can't be good for her overall health, Gaius," Uther went on, standing up and striding toward Gaius. "I thought you were giving her a sleeping draft?"

Gaius nodded gravely. "I have been, my lord, but the dreams keep returning. I shall give her something stronger next time."

Uther nodded as he prepared to leave. "Make sure you do." Looking back at Morgana, he said, "Are you sure you're quite alright?"

Morgana nodded hastily. "Thank you."

"In that case, I will take my leave. Arthur, get some rest tonight, there are a lot of matters to discuss and a lot of training to do tomorrow."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Father."

"Goodnight," the king said, striding out of the room. Gaius followed him, giving Arthur and Morgana a knowing look as he closed the door silently behind them.

The whole room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as Uther and Gaius's footsteps could be heard receding down the hallway. When Arthur could no longer hear the king's boots clacking on the stone floor, he said, "You can come out now,  _Mer_ lin."

* * *

Merlin heaved a sigh of relief and slid out from under Morgana's bed. "That was close," he breathed, and both Arthur and Morgana nodded their agreement. Arthur reached down to help Merlin to his feet. Surprised, yet touched, Merlin took the prince's strong, calloused hand and Arthur hoisted him from the ground with hardly any effort. Morgana watched the exchange knowingly, a slight smile on her face as she witnessed the simple gesture of friendship that showed that Arthur was at least somewhat capable of trying, even if claimed he didn't care.

When he was back on his feet, attempting unsuccessfully to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt, Merlin said, "Thank you."

Arthur snorted. "It's hardly something to thank me for,  _Mer_ lin. If I didn't help you up you'd trip all over yourself."

Merlin allowed himself a half-smile, neither denying or acknowledging the validity of the prince's words. "I meant—thank you for helping me. You didn't have to hide me like that."

"Yes, well, it was nothing," Arthur said quickly. Merlin exchanged a small smile with Morgana at Arthur's refusal to acknowledge what he'd done.

After a moment of silence, Merlin locked eyes with Morgana. "Thank you, my lady, for sharing your concerns with me. I…I assure you I'll be careful, and with Arthur around, what could happen?" No one bothered to mention that when Arthur was around was usually when something bad did happen because the prince seemed to have some sort of trouble magnet imbedded inside of him.

"That's all I ask," Morgana said softly, her eyes whispering some unknown emotion that Merlin couldn't quite replace.

Arthur cleared his throat, and both servant and lady jumped slightly. "Why did you do it?" Merlin asked suddenly. "I mean, you didn't have to warn me, but you did anyway. I'm just a servant, after all."

"No, Merlin," Morgana said. "You are not just a servant." She moved her eyes up to meet Arthur's. Gazing at him steadily, she went on, "You are also my friend."

Arthur looked both shocked and annoyed. "Have you been talking to Hermione Granger lately, by any chance?" he asked irritably.

Surprised, Morgana blinked. "The girl that arrived with the visitors? No. I don't think she likes me very much, though. She seems cold." Regarding Arthur cautiously she wondered, "Why do you ask?"

Sighing, the prince griped, "Because every girl in the bloody kingdom has the exact same message to preach, and frankly, it's getting annoying."

Morgana smirked but didn't respond.

Feeling as if he had intruded upon their privacy long enough, Merlin spoke up. "If that is all, I suppose I will be getting to bed, my lady." He nodded at Arthur. "Sire."

"Wait, Merlin," Arthur said quickly. Merlin spun halfway to the door.

"Yes, sire?"

"How's Harry?" Arthur asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Morgana's eyes widened as if Harry's name meant something to her. "Harry?" she asked. "Harry Potter?" When Arthur and Merlin nodded, she asked, "What happened to him?"

"Funny thing," Arthur said. "I was having dinner with our three guests and he collapsed and had some kind of…fit…right about the same time you screamed. I told a servant to go get Gaius and told Hermione and Ron to stay with Harry and then came in here to make sure you were alright. I hadn't heard any recent news about how he is doing." He looked at his servant pointedly and Merlin hurried to answer.

"I haven't seen him yet, but Gaius is letting him use my room tonight because he wants to be able to keep an eye on him. I'm bunking with Ron and Hermione in the guest chambers tonight. Gaius said that Harry should be fine in the morning; he's been given a sleeping draft that should help him rest until tomorrow."

Arthur nodded. "Good."

Morgana smiled but her voice sounded far away. "When you see him, Merlin, make sure you give him my regards and tell him I hope he feels well very soon."

"Of course," Merlin said. Glancing between Arthur and Morgana, the servant asked, "Will that be all?"

"Yes," Morgana said, "but please, remember what I said, Merlin. I know these dreams are just dreams, but still…"

"I understand…thank you." Merlin turned to leave.

Arthur turned to Morgana. "If you're alright, then I'll let you rest and send Gwen back in," he said. "I need to talk to Merlin, so I'll walk with him back to the guest rooms."

"Eh, actually, sire, Gaius wanted me to see him first and let him know what is going on…"

"Then I'll walk you to Gaius's chambers," Arthur said resolutely. "And then I'll have to hunt down that serving boy and have him get me ready for bed."

"I can do it, Sire," Merlin said.

Arthur shook his head. "No, Merlin, I gave you the night off. Marcus will attend to me tonight."

Morgana laughed as the two men left her chambers, a playful taunt following Arthur down the hall although he pretended not to hear it. "Because it's absolutely much too difficult to prepare oneself for bed…"

* * *

Morgana sat on her bed, her thoughts swirling around in her head like a whirlwind of confusion. Although she wasn't sure what was going on, there was at least one thing she knew for certain. She had been right! She and Harry did have some sort of connection; there was a reason she had felt so drawn to him. How else could you explain why they both became ill at the exact same time?

She had known that there was something about him…

Sighing, she wished it wasn't getting so late. She really wanted to see him, to find out how he was doing even if he was asleep. The urge to speak to him, to learn more about this strange but alluring boy was tugging at her heart. There was something about him…something that she couldn't place, but that she liked all the same.

She was jarred out of her thoughts when Gwen knocked on the door and stepped inside. "Are you ready to go back to bed, my lady? I'll stay in the antechamber tonight just in case you need me…that nightmare must have been very scary."

Morgana nodded. "It was indeed. But don't worry, Gwen, I'll be fine. You should go home; you'll be able to rest better there."

Gwen shook her head. "I really don't mind, Lady Morgana. You need me, and I'll always be there for you."

Morgana stood and gave her handmaiden a friendly embrace. "Thank you, Gwen. You're always so kind to me."

As Gwen helped prepare her for bed, Morgana reflected on how wonderful it was to have such a kind-hearted friend in her maid.

* * *

Out in the corridor, on their way to Gaius's chambers, Merlin glanced at the prince. "You wanted to talk to me, sire?"

Arthur nodded. "Morgana was right, Merlin. You should be careful."

Merlin lowered his head and laughed nervously. "It was just a dream. You don't think anything's really going to happen to me do you?" The uncertainty in his voice made Arthur's eyes flicker with some undeterminable emotion that disappeared so quickly Merlin wondered if he had imagined it.

"Of course her dreams aren't real, Merlin," Arthur said haughtily. His voice taking a more serious tone, he went on, "But Morgana is a very intuitive person, and many times she can tell when something's not right. So…er…just watch yourself, okay?"

Merlin smiled. "Are you actually admitting that you care about my well-being?" he asked sarcastically.

Arthur huffed and countered, "No, I just don't want to have to go through the hassle of trying to find another servant. I don't have time to replace you, even if I wanted to." He stopped talking but kept walking as if hoping Merlin hadn't heard his slip of tongue.

"So you don't want to replace me," Merlin said triumphantly, hurrying to walk beside the prince. "That means you care. Just admit it. Your life would be pretty boring without me around."

Arthur rolled his eyes but remained serious. "No one," he said fiercely, "not even someone as annoying and klutzy as you, should ever have to go through the hell Morgana was describing. As your prince and your master…" he hesitated, "…and as your…"

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. "As my…what?"

Pulling himself together, Arthur continued, "As your authority, I order you to watch out and not to do anything stupid. If you notice anything or anyone suspicious, you tell me first. I do not want to have to come bail you out of danger, is that understood?"

Merlin swallowed, unable to speak for a moment. Although Arthur's words were disconnected and callous, the emotions behind them were not. Merlin knew that Arthur had been on the verge of calling him a friend, but his stubborn pride had stopped him. Despite how pratty his warning had sounded, Merlin could sense the tension and worry in the lines between the prince's wavering voice and could see the uncertainty in his eyes. Even though Arthur played at not caring, Merlin knew that he did, to some degree at least, want to make sure Merlin was safe. "Yes…sire," the warlock said quietly.

"Good," Arthur said. "Let's hope you can actually listen to what I tell you this time."

Grinning, Merlin felt his heart bound in relief knowing that his relationship with Arthur had been mended and things between them were the same, if not a bit better, than they had been before. Merlin wasn't positive what had begun to change Arthur's attitude, but he had a feeling that his new friends just might have had something to do with it.


	13. The Sleepover

Merlin approached the door of the guest chambers that had been given to Ron, Harry, and Hermione. He knew that, tonight, only two of the three would be in there. Merlin really wished he knew what had caused Morgana and Harry to pass out like that in the first place. And he  _really_ wished he knew if Morgana's dream meant anything. A cold feeling settling into his stomach, he sensed that Morgana's prediction was not something to be taken lightly. Perhaps it was just nerves, but he felt like the air was thick with an aura of danger. Either way, he was going to take Arthur's advice  _very_ seriously. No taking chances. He was going to be careful.

Merlin heard the soft murmuring of voices from behind the heavy door and his fist paused in mid-air as he stopped himself from knocking just yet. He didn't want to interrupt their conversation. After a few moments, the talking drifted off into silence, and Merlin knocked lightly on the door. There was a shuffle and Hermione called, "Who is it?"

"Merlin," the warlock answered promptly and was immediately let in.

The room was dim, the view outside of the window masked by a blanket of darkness. There were no stars visible tonight, and it was a new moon. The bracketed candles that lined the walls were flickering with a dim, wavering light, but it provided only enough light by which to navigate around the furniture with.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on their respective cots glumly. Merlin set his small bag on Harry's bed and sat down beside it, adding his presence to the tired silence. After a few minutes, the warlock spoke up. "What happened to Harry?"

Hermione sighed and exchanged a weary glance with Ron. "It was his scar," she said, biting her lip anxiously.

Frowning, Merlin repeated, "His scar? How's that? I mean, I know it was paining him the other day, but Gaius and Arthur both described it as a kind of fit…"

Ron nodded. "It's happened before." He paused. "Once it saved my dad's life. 'Course, Harry was asleep then, and he had a dream…entered Voldemort's mind. Saw what he had sent his snake to do…attack Dad. He woke up and had a fit, vomiting all over the place." The red-head wrinkled his nose, the splatter of freckles there scrunching up into one big, orange mass. "It was gross, not to mention scary, but he saved my dad's life."

Merlin frowned, thinking. "It can't be  _all_  bad, then," he mused. "Maybe his connection with Voldemort can actually be of some use."

Before the words were even out of his mouth, both Ron and Hermione were shaking their heads sullenly, their eyes downcast and faces melancholy in the wavering light of the candles. "I'm glad it saved Dad," Ron said softly. "But then Voldemort found out about the connection, learned that he could use it to manipulate Harry."

His mouth going dry, Merlin ventured, "What happened?"

Hermione sighed. "It's not really our place, Merlin, but you should talk to Harry about it. It's been almost a year since it happened and he hardly ever talks about it, not even to us. Maybe…maybe he'll open up to you."

Merlin shook his head slowly. "I doubt it; he barely knows me."

Her eyes focused on her fingernails, her voice soft and low as if in a trance, Hermione shrugged. "You never know. Still…" She let out a breath of air slowly. "I will say this. That day…we all…but Harry, especially, lost someone very dear to us. And it was all because Voldemort figured out how to get inside of his head and project images that he  _wanted_ Harry to see, making him think that he was actually seeing what was going on."

"So he never knows if what he's seeing is reality or not?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, that just about sums it up."

Merlin pulled his legs up onto the bed, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his head lightly on his knees. He couldn't help but think about the dream, the vision, that Morgana had warned him about… _in his eyes I saw fires of torture…pain…unspeakable death…in those fires, screaming and suffering, was a person…Merlin…in its eyes_ you _were suffering…you were in so much pain…_

Noticing the paleness of Merlin's face even in the candlelit room, Ron shifted uneasily. "Er, Merlin, you alright, mate?"

Merlin shrugged heavily, his eyes stinging. It wasn't that he was afraid of pain. He'd been in plenty of pain before…like when he had drunk the poisoned wine for Arthur and the torturous poison had ravaged his dying body for nearly two whole days. It wasn't this that bothered him; it was that he knew what else went along with his suffering—failure. Morgana didn't know it, but she had foreseen Merlin failing in his destiny, failing to keep Arthur safe and help turn him into the king whose legacy would last for ages. He felt something hot and wet rolling down one side of his face and he wiped his eyes, ashamed.

He heard someone get up, but he kept his eyes closed, even when a comforting arm was wrapped around his thin shoulders. Hermione's voice murmured beside him, "It's alright, Merlin. No one's judging you." Peeping one unfathomably deep, blue eye open, the wizard glanced at the pretty girl beside him, blushing only slightly at her close proximity. "I'm sorry," he said simply, standing and leaving her standing behind his bed. "It's just…sometimes I don't know if I'll ever make it to this destiny everyone keeps telling me about. I mean—between you three, Gaius, Kilgharra…"

Hermione cocked her head at the last name.

"Who the hell is Kilgharra?" Ron bluntly demanded. His stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry."

Merlin stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "I thought you ate with Arthur," he said.

"Yeah," Ron grumbled, "before Harry passed out. We hadn't even gotten to the pies yet; why couldn't Voldemort have waited to assault Harry's mind until  _after_ dessert?" he all but whined.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You'll learn to ignore him," she whispered loudly to Merlin in a conspiratory way, making sure her voice was loud enough for Ron to "overhear" her. "He's hungry all the time; you just have to tune him out when he complains about it. That's why I only hear about one third of what he says."

Ron snorted at the teasing prod, tossing his pillow at his friend. Hermione caught it with surprising reflexes, smirked, and tossed it aside.

"Oi!" Ron protested. "That's  _my_ pillow."

Hermione raised her eyebrows cockily in a way that reminded Merlin eerily of Arthur. "  _You_  threw it at me, Ronald; you obviously have no use for it."

Rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, Ron simply flopped down onto his now-pillowless bed and said to Merlin, "You never told me who Kilg-whats-it was."

Merlin couldn't help but allow his face to split into a wide grin. "That's because  _you_  interrupted me," he pointed out, getting back on his bed and leaning up against the wall behind it. Hermione proceeded to sit on her cot, her foot tapping the floor idly.

Ron groaned. "Oh, bloody hell," he complained. "You're acting like Hermione now…I'm doomed."

Merlin laughed, grateful that he had such good friends to cheer him up. Although the worry about Morgana's dream hadn't completely left him, he felt a lot better than he had before. "Kilgharra," he said finally, "is who I went to talk with about you all this evening while you were dining with Arthur." He paused, wondering how to break the news to Hermione that she had been mistaken. "When I spoke to him an hour ago and he told me that you all being here was dangerous. He also said that you were wrong, Hermione—if you die here, it won't cause you not to be born, but to simply…die."

Hermione frowned. "Of course!" she snapped irritably. "I  _knew_  that!"

Having never seen this, the extreme-know-it-all side of Hermione before, Merlin was taken aback. "Eh…" he said hesitantly. "No, you didn't. You said—"

"I know what I said!" the girl huffed. "And I  _knew_ something was off about it;  _why_  did I not realize I was wrong? Oh, dear, if Professor Moxy-Haven from Wizard Time Theory IV hears about this, there will be  _no_ redeeming myself…If I were to get a question about that on the N.E.W.T. test, I would  _fail_  for sure…"

Merlin glanced at Ron. "Is she…er, you know…alright?"

Ron smirked, delighted at finding an opening in which he could throw Hermione's words back in her face. "Oh, yes, she's fine," he drawled loudly. "She frets about school all the time, you learn to tune it out." As Hermione sent a fiery death-glare his way, Ron burst into laughter. "That's why I only hear her  _none_  of the time!"

Merlin couldn't help but have a chortle at Hermione's expense, but thankfully, she didn't seem too upset about their laughter. "No matter," she said in a forced-strong voice. "This is a learning experience." She cleared her throat, turning her attention back to Merlin. "So what did Morgana want?"

Merlin sighed, running his hand wearily across his face. "She had a dream. She dreamed that…someone…was getting tortured." He couldn't bring himself to admit aloud that the person being tormented was actually him; he figured they already had figured it out anyway. Why else would have Morgana demanded to see him unless it was to warn him of harm coming his way? Only Arthur, Merlin thought affectionately, would have deciphered Morgana's demanding to see Merlin as something centered around himself, the  _prat_.

Hermione's eyes went round. Ron whistled softly.

"It was just a dream, right, though?" Ron finally managed to ask after an awkward silence.

Merlin looked Ron directly in the eyes and the red-headed wizard shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. It was in this moment that Ron somehow was able to get a glimpse of all the power and wisdom that was locked up inside of the young man he had been scoffing at for days—he was seeing a glimpse of the legend Merlin would become, a snatch of the greatest sorcerer of all time. He felt a new level of respect for the boy at this realization. After a few moments, Merlin responded to Ron's query in a soft, almost resigned voice.

"I don't know," the warlock said. "Are Harry's merely dreams?"

The three fell into a thoughtful silence, which Merlin broke by changing to a less depressing subject. "So…what did the prat want to talk to you about?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged wary glances, both recalling the prince's threat to put all of them plus Merlin in the stocks if they ever told him what he had confessed. Even though their understanding and respect of the prince had grown over the meal, they still knew that Arthur would not hesitate to carry out with his promise.

"Er…nothing much," Hermione supplied evasively. "Just…wanted to, you know, see how we're doing, and learn more about where we came from—and don't worry, he doesn't suspect a thing."

Merlin had a feeling that he wasn't getting the whole truth here, but decided he wasn't going to push it. It was obvious that Arthur hadn't wanted him at the dinner; whatever he wanted to talk to them about wasn't really his business. Now that he knew his friends were safe and that Arthur wasn't onto the fact that there were four sorcerers living right under his very nose, he felt much better about the whole situation and was willing to let it go for now. He did not, however, resolve to let Arthur off the hook. When things got a little less tense, he would needle the prince for more information. Arthur would probably be surprised if he didn't.

A companionable air settled around the wizards, who sat in quiet darkness until a loud grunt startled Merlin and Hermione. Ron had fallen asleep, his snores rumbling into the mattress of his cot, his pillow still lying somewhere on the floor where Hermione had discarded it.

"What now?" Hermione asked softly. "I don't feel like sleeping; there's so much to think about."

Merlin smiled brightly at her, an idea of how they could pass the time until they  _did_ feel like sleeping lodging itself firmly into his mind. "Maybe," he said, getting up and sitting beside Hermione on her cot, "we could  _both_ teach each other something."

Hermione's eyes lit up but she glanced nervously at the closed door. "Magic?" she whispered.

Merlin nodded. "I'd like to learn more about how it works in the future, how it works without the Old Religion."

Hermione stared at Merlin wistfully. "And it would be an  _honor_  to learn anything from you, Merlin," she said.

Merlin chuckled. "I'm not the greatest sorcerer in the world, Hermione," he reminded her gently. "I've still got a  _lot_  to learn."

Hermione nodded slowly. "That may be," she said, "but you're already more powerful than you know. And you may not be the most powerful wizard in the world,  _yet_ —but you will be. It says so in my History of Magic textbook."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the  _same_  book that said I was a four-hundred-sum year old geezer with a beard and robes with stars and moons on them and a hat—a  _pointy_  hat?"

Hermione blushed. "Well, you  _will_ grow old someday, Merlin," she reminded him. "Everyone does."

Merlin nodded, affirming her statement. "But I will never— _never_ —be caught dead in a big pointy hat!" Hermione giggled as Merlin went on, "You said it yourself, you'll have to let the author know they made a mistake—just because your textbook says something, doesn't mean it's necessarily true."

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe not. But you're still going to be the greatest wizard of all time, and you are going to help raise up the greatest king of all time. You'll see."

Reaching out, Merlin took Hermione's hand and squeezed it in thanks. "You're a good friend, Hermione," he said.

She smiled lightly as he let go of her hand, the word  _friend_  still reverberating through her skull. Why did she feel a sudden ache in her heart?

She was disrupted in her thoughts as Ron gave a particularly loud snore and Merlin laughed. "So what do you say, Hermione?" he asked eagerly. "Will you teach me how to use a wand?"

Hermione returned his infectious smile, amazing at how catching his enthusiasm was. "Only if you'll teach me about the Old Religion," she grinned.

Nodding his agreement, Merlin went on, "If you want, I can start teaching all three of you if we can find a good place to practice. I don't know a whole lot about the Old Religion myself, but I know quite a few spells and I have a magic book hidden in my room that might help." Hermione's eyes sparkled just thinking about an ancient magic book containing spells and secrets from the sacred and lost Old Religion. And learning them from  _the_ Merlin, nonetheless! "Of course," the wizard went on, "you three will still have to teach me some of  _your_ spells, too."

Hermione quickly acquiesced, taking Merlin's proffered hand and shaking it as they struck their bargain. "Deal."

* * *

"What makes you so sure they'll come to us, Nimueh?" Voldemort sneered. "This is madness, waiting for those we seek to come to us—they do not even know we are here, or where we are."

Nimueh smiled. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Lord Voldemort," she replied, completely at ease. "You never know what your young friend Mr. Potter has seen through the…connection you told me about. And the girl—Morgana—she is a seer, even if she hasn't realized her powers yet. She will surely know something."

Frustrated, Voldemort cursed, taking his anger out on a rat that had been scuttling along the floor of the cave. Whipping his wand out with uncanny speed, the dark wizard shot a killing curse at the vermin, who squeaked and avoided the green beam just in time, scuttling under the relative safety of a rock. "Even if they do suspect something, they are going to be cautious," he said, glaring furiously at Nimueh. "They will come to confront us, to try and stop us, yes…" His voice was like a snake's, hissing and guttural. Nagini, his large snake, who had been lying at his feet like a faithful lapdog, stirred and hissed at her master's agitation, flicking out her forked tongue threateningly. "And they do not know where we are."

Nimueh's smile widened, her perfect white teeth flashing eerily in the wobbly light of the candles. "We are in the best place. I know the prince, and I know the servant. Even if they have no idea about us being here, they  _will_ be nearby in the course of a week. With a little enchantment, whenever they  _do_  go on their next hunting trip, Merlin and your three little friends will walk right into a trap."


	14. The Life of a Servant

Harry woke up, no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. His head was aching something fierce; his scar felt inflamed, but otherwise, he felt fine. He sat up slowly, his back popping in protest from having slept on a thin, lumpy, extraordinarily uncomfortable mattress all night. It felt about the same as what he had slept on while living in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys', but the luxurious dorms in Gryffindor Tower had apparently spoiled him a bit. He vowed to never take advantage of his nice, soft, warm bed or his dormitory again—even if Neville Longbottom snored like an angry griffin and talked about cockroach clusters in his sleep. He would just be thankful that he had somewhere soft to sleep—whoever's bed this was must have serious back problems, he decided.

Who's bed  _was_ this? He looked down to see that he was wearing black pants and a red, worn work shirt, both of which were a bit too big for him. He tried to remember, once more, what had happened. Oh that's right, Gwen's father had been kind enough to let he and Ron borrow some old clothes of his to wear.

Gwen? It flooded back to him. Waking up in the middle of the night, hearing a soft, intoxicating voice calling out to him from the seventh floor. Nearly being caught by Filch and ducking into the Room of Requirement just in time, due to Hermione's level head and quick thinking. Leaving the Room of Requirement and somehow winding up in ancient Camelot. Meeting Guinevere, who wasn't a queen or even a noble woman, but a servant to Lady Morgana who may or may not be Morgan Le Fay. Ron's embarrassment when he said "Merlin's beard," in front of the real Merlin. That strange conversation with Morgana, where she had stared at him strangely. Dinner with Prince Arthur, where he bared his emotions to them about Merlin's near-death several weeks prior. And then…nothing.

Nothing substantial, that is. He could remember pain, and lots of it. Waking briefly with a pounding head to Gaius pouring a foul-tasting (although admittedly not as disgusting as Goyle-flavored Polyjuice Potion) concoction down his throat and being sucked into another terrible, inescapable bout of confusing nightmares. Out of all of the confusion, however, one dream stood out to Harry and unlike the others, he could remember every detail perfectly. Legilimency. His connection with Voldemort was still strong, and he had seen into his mind. If Voldemort had  _wanted_  Harry to see that scene, or if the scene was real at all, he had no idea, but there was no point in denying it—Voldemort was in Camelot. He had to tell the others.

He leapt out of the bed, noting that his glasses were still on, and burst through the door, not expecting there to be a few steps down, and falling down the stairs and tumbling into a heap onto the floor of Gaius's chambers. Ah. So he'd been in Merlin's room.

The old man started at the racket and Harry clambered to his feet, cursing because he had cracked his glasses in the fall—again. He wished that he was alone and that he had his wand so he could fix them—Hermione had finally drilled into his head how to do the  _Reparo_  spell, which was a good thing because his glasses seemed to break often.

His wand, however, was in the guest chambers, hidden beneath a false bottom to the top drawer of the wardrobe that Hermione had conjured as soon as they were alone in the room. They had decided that this would be the best place, for now, to hide their wands. Whether Uther or any of his men would be able to recognize them for what they were—items of magic—they didn't know, but they thought it would be safer to keep them out of sight for now. Hermione had mentioned that she might be able to put a shielding charm around the wands, similar to but much weaker than the magic that kept Muggles from seeing Hogwarts or the stadium at the Quidditch World Cup, but she hadn't had the chance to try it yet.

Gaius smiled warmly but Harry could tell he was trying not to laugh. "As clumsy as Merlin, I see," he said, his eyes twinkling. His voice lowering conspiratorially, he added, "It must be a theme amongst you young wizards."

Harry nodded before he realized what Merlin's uncle had said. He opened his mouth (which was suddenly very dry) but no sound came out. Clearing his throat, he tried again, resulting only in a weak, "What?"

Gaius chuckled. "I must apologize, Harry, that was quite rude of me. I assure you, everything is fine and that the King will hear nothing from me."

Still staring at Gaius as if in a daze, his mind reeling from everything, Harry asked, "How?" It seemed that he was only able to talk in one syllable responses at the moment. He couldn't help it though; he was flustered and confused—not to mention shaken because of the dream. His brain was having difficulty sorting all of this out, and he was pretty sure he'd slept through something pretty important.

"Your two friends, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley came to see me earlier. They told me that they had talked it over with Merlin and that they couldn't keep it a secret from me. Merlin had wanted to be there when they told, but Ms. Granger convinced him to let them handle it. I must admit that I was quite shocked by their story, but if Merlin has so much faith in you then, in this instance, I must believe you as well. I can see that none of you have evil in your hearts."

Harry smiled widely for the first time that morning, relief soaking into his very being. "Thanks," he breathed.

Gaius eyed Harry with the critical gaze only a physician can master. "How are you feeling? That sleeping draft was a bit more powerful than I had anticipated; it's nearly midday."

Harry's head snapped up. "Midday? I need to find Ron and Hermione," he said urgently.

Gaius's thick eyebrows crawled together like two snow-white, fuzzy caterpillars as he squinted at Harry in what seemed to be a mix of concern and slight amusement. "They left a few minutes ago to go to the market and buy some food—Arthur was generous to send Merlin this morning to give a few coins to them. He knew they'd be staying for a while but that they had no form of currency."

"Thanks," Harry said again and started for the door.

"Harry, wait—you need to let me check you; you had quite a bump on the head from when you fell out of your chair last night—"

"I'll be fine," Harry quickly assured him, all the while moving closer to the exit.

"At least eat something!" Gaius said, exasperated. It was uncanny how much Harry was reminding him of Merlin right now, always sprinting off to get into mischief and not giving a lick of attention to his own personal well-being. Perhaps all young wizards  _were_ the same. He shuddered slightly. Ron and Hermione had told him about the school they attended—Pig Pimples or some such ridiculous name—and Gaius could only imagine hundreds of wizards—Heaven help him, hundreds of wizards like  _Merlin—_  roaming the halls and getting into unspeakable amounts of trouble. He expected that whoever ran the school either had white hair from all the stress or no hair at all from yanking it out in exasperation. A school for wizards…not somewhere  _he_  would like to teach, but still…at least it meant that there was a place for magic in the future.

"I'll eat something later with Ron and Hermione!" Harry promised, calling back through the already closing door and scampering off to do who-knows-what.

"Good heavens," Gaius murmured, almost affectionately. It really  _was_ like having another Merlin around.

Smiling slightly, Gaius felt a twinge of affection leap to the surface of his stern façade for the young wizard he had taken in and now loved like his own son—Merlin  _was_ a good boy even if he was a complete  _idiot_ sometimes.

* * *

Merlin burst back into Arthur's chambers, having just finished delivering the money for Ron and Hermione to Gaius so that they could pick it up later.

He was tired. He and Hermione had stayed up nearly all night talking. They had decided not to start practicing magic then and there because they thought it might be best if they waited until Harry was with them and Ron was conscious because there was no point in Merlin going over things twice.

They had, however, reclined on their respective cots and talked in a low murmur, so as not to wake Ron. They had talked about everything—Merlin wanted to know about Hermione's parents and what life was like for non-magic people (or Muggles, he reminded himself) in the future. She told him that they were dentists, which, in answer to his confused expression, she explained were a kind of physician that fixed teeth. She said that when you went to the dentist, you would sit in a chair that would lean all the way back, and then the dentist would poke and prod the inside of your mouth with various sharp instruments that made loud noises. Merlin had decided then and there that he was glad dentists hadn't been invented yet; they sounded pretty scary.

Hermione had laughed, assuring him that her parents were wonderful. She told him about cars, airplanes, and buses; computers and televisions (why someone would want to sit around all day and stare at a box, he couldn't figure out); telephones and electric lights; and something that sounded wonderful beyond all words—indoor plumbing.

She had asked him about where he'd grown up, and he told her about Ealdor, his mother, and his best friend Will. He choked up when he got to the part about Will taking an arrow for Arthur  _and_  taking the blame for being a sorcerer for Merlin, dying shortly afterwards. He told her about the good times; running around the village with Will and causing all sorts of shenanigans, the time he tried to fell a tree with magic and almost flattened the oldest, grumpiest man in the village (which Will had pointed out wouldn't have been too big of a loss), and helping his mother out in every way that he could.

He had wanted to know more about the future of wizard-kind. Hermione had instantly complied, telling him about the Ministry of Magic, which, she said in a rather irritated huff, were " _complete_  and total _buffoons_  that wouldn't recognize the truth if it danced a jig  _naked_  on top of their heads." Gringotts was the wizard bank and it was run by goblins. Diagon Alley was the marketplace of the modern wizarding world, where there were magic shops galore. The real excitement came when she mentioned Quidditch, the most popular wizard game in the world, which was played on broomsticks. She didn't go into the rules because she claimed that she didn't know nearly as much about it as Harry and Ron and if he wanted to talk sports, he could talk to them.

Merlin wanted to see this world so badly—he wanted to visit Hogwarts, and Diagon Alley, and Gringotts. He wanted to play Quidditch and meet the friends she'd told him about—goofy but sweet Neville; quirky but somehow still brilliant Luna; Ron's siblings—especially Fred and George, they sounded like a lot of fun; best friends Seamus and Dean. He also wanted to teach a lesson or two to this Malfoy and his cronies—the thought of insulting someone because their parents don't have magic appalled him.

Hermione had smiled wistfully and admitted that she missed it but that she was still glad to be in Camelot; who else has ever had a chance to meet  _the_ Merlin? Merlin had grown uncomfortable after this, but he had laughed it off. He couldn't shake the feeling that his entire future was already planned and that his new friends—as good as their intentions were—were just setting up their expectations, and that if he didn't become this great wizard they claimed he would be, that he would be a failure.

It was bad enough when Kilgharra insisted upon his great destiny, but when it was someone he  _really_  cared about, his friends, it was even more difficult. He wondered what it was like not to  _have_ a destiny and he had wondered if everyone had their own destiny, or if he was one of a few that did not get to choose his fate.

While he had been silently contemplating this, Hermione had fallen asleep. Merlin still hadn't been able to get much rest, however, as he was busy trying to figure out when and where the best times to practice magic would be. It was one thing when it was just him and he was practicing in his room, but he knew that Gaius wouldn't approve of their plan, and besides, Merlin's room was really two small for four wizards teaching each other magic. He had finally decided that they could probably pull it off in the guest room if he could find a spell strong enough to muffle the noise from the room and keep people away from it while they were practicing. If not, he supposed they could venture into the Darkling Forest, but the idea wasn't exactly welcoming, as he didn't even like going in there during the day hunting with Arthur. He had a feeling that a lot more dangerous animals came out at night, and he  _really_ didn't want to face them if it wasn't necessary.

Now he was paying for his all-nighter. His eyes were drooping and he knew he had dark circles under them. He was constantly having to fight the urge to yawn or nod off. He wasn't sure if Arthur had noticed his exhaustion. The prince had been shooting concerned glances at him whenever they were in the same room, but Merlin didn't know if it was because he looked dead on his feet or if Arthur was still worrying about the dream Morgana had revealed last night.

Either way, the look Arthur was giving him now, as the young warlock barged into his room, was not one of concern or even mild worry. It was more of an intense glare that would have any knight scared to death. Merlin, however, simply smirked, as used to Arthur's furious glower as he was. Besides, he knew that a lot of it was an act—Arthur really wasn't as mean as he acted sometimes.

"Thank you,  _Mer_ lin, for knocking," the prince said sarcastically.

Merlin grinned widely. "You're welcome,  _Ar_ thur."

Arthur glared at him for a minute longer. "Have I told you lately that you are the most lazy, incompetent, rude, and  _annoying_  servant I've ever had?"

Merlin cocked an eyebrow. "If that's true," he said, "why haven't I been fired yet?"

Arthur frowned. "I don't know,  _Mer_ lin, but I'm sure  _you_ have a wonderful explanation, though."

Merlin chuckled. "Of course I do." He paused, grinning broadly. "Because your life would be utterly, hopelessly, completely  _boring_  without me."

Arthur stood there for a moment, looking as if he were halfway between agreeing and yelling. Finally, he said in the most prat-like tone he could muster, "If by  _boring_  you mean  _peaceful_ , then yes,  _Mer_ lin. I completely agree."

Merlin smiled. He was glad things were back to normal between he and Arthur; he had missed the banter. Besides, when the prince was busy insulting him he wasn't giving Merlin nervous looks as if he were about to burst into flame at any given moment. Merlin knew Arthur would deny worrying about him if asked about it, but Merlin could see it in his face and actions. Arthur was afraid something bad was going to happen to Merlin. Whether he was worried for Merlin's safety or just worried that he'd have to find a new servant, he didn't know. A few days earlier, he wouldn't have hesitated to say that Arthur was worried about  _him_  because they were friends, but after their heated discussion the other day, Merlin wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Arthur scoffed. "Why do you have that  _ridiculous_ grin on your face,  _Merlin_? You look like you have gas."

Merlin gaped at him for only a second before retorting, "Well, at least I don't  _smell_  like it!"

Arthur's eyebrows raised dangerously. Merlin gulped. "If that's the case,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur said with a gleam in his eyes, "then someone hasn't been doing their job correctly. Which means that you'll have to wash all my laundry, clean my armor again, and make  _sure_  you scrub this floor until it  _shines_. We have to get the stench out of here, don't we?"

Merlin groaned but didn't protest other than saying, "Prat."

Arthur laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. "Have fun," he said happily, almost bounding out of the room.

Merlin shook his head wearily. The things that made his "destiny" happy. Smirking, he watched the prince's back as his royal pratness left the room smugly, having dealt Merlin a mass of things to do. "Well, look at that," he said to himself, "the smell left with the prince. Wonder what that means?"

Humming to himself, he begin to work, thoughts of the magic lessons later spurring him on. He couldn't wait until they started teaching each other. That would have to wait until tomorrow night, though. Tonight, he decided, he was going to take Harry, Ron, and Hermione to meet Kilgharra.


	15. An Unexpected Visit

Later that evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were lounging about in their guest room. They had seen Merlin running around after Arthur earlier, but he had been busy so they hadn't wanted to bother him. Merlin had hurriedly told them to wait up on him; that he would sneak to their room and meet them sometime after midnight.

Now, however, the three friends wanted to be alone for a while to talk things out. "So you had a dream…a vision..." Hermione said slowly, her eyes clouded with worry, "…that V-Voldemort is  _here_ , in Camelot?"

Harry nodded glumly.

Ron spoke up, his voice shaky but hopeful. "You don't  _know_  that You-Know-Who is here, though, do you? He could be projecting images into your mind again."

Harry frowned. "Maybe. But…it just seemed so… _real_."

Hermione meekly responded, "But it seemed real when you saw Sirius at the ministry, didn't it?"

Harry glared at her, his emotions raging violently in his heart. He knew Hermione was trying to help, and he knew that his friends were worried about him because he refused to talk about his godfather's death. He couldn't. It was just too painful. Every time he thought about the man that had been like a father-figure to him, his dad's best friend, he felt like he was witnessing Sirius's death all over again. He could feel his heart being ripped into; he experienced the aching longing to be with him, to jump under the veil with him…and all of this was always accompanied by a burning desire to extract revenge on the woman who had killed Sirius Black—his own cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Not only did it hurt too much to talk about it with anyone, but he was almost ashamed of the murderous thoughts that flashed through his tormented mind when he thought of Sirius's murder. How would Ron and Hermione feel about him if they found out that there were times that Harry simply wanted to rip Bellatrix limb from limb?

He closed his eyes, shutting out the pain and emotions, and put the wall back up that separated his grief of losing Sirius from the rest of his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he saw both Ron and Hermione looking at him with concern. "I'm fine," he snapped. Hermione looked hurt, and Harry sighed. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "The thing is, though, even if Voldemort  _did_ put that image in my head, there's no way the connection would have been that strong to span over centuries. Whether what I saw is what really came to pass—and I just feel, I just  _know_  it was—one thing is for certain: Voldemort  _is_ in Camelot."

Ron bit his lip. "But why?"

Harry got up from his bed and started pacing the room, his scar tingling uncomfortably. "In my dream, he was talking to a woman. They were working together. Voldemort said something about wanting to defeat 'the great warlock.' And the woman…she was going to help him defeat his foes."

"Voldemort's greatest foe would be you, Harry," Hermione said softly. "Did the woman say anything else?"

Harry thought hard, the details of the dream starting to fade from his memory. "Something about…" he paused, searching for what the woman had said, "…something about…the Old Religion! Yeah, she said that his foes would not be able to stand against the Old Religion."

Ron's eyebrows knit together. "Why would You-Know-Who go to anyone for help in killing Harry? He's too proud."

"Because," Hermione said, "he knows that Harry has his mother's protection."

Harry shook his head slowly. "That doesn't make sense. When Voldemort returned, he found a way around my mum's protection—he can touch me now."

"He might be able to touch you, but you've still got some protection around you," Hermione said. "It's obvious—even if he is no longer in pain because of your mother's sacrifice, he can't seem to kill you. So he came to this woman to help."

"But why Camelot?" Harry asked, exasperated. "Why drag us here?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. Hopefully Merlin will be able to answer our questions. Or maybe his friend, the one he spoke to the other night, can."

"Even if they can answer the questions, we can't leave," Harry said resolutely.

Ron gaped at him. "Why not? I don't know about you, but if You-Know-Who's here, I'm going to get the hell out of here as soon as Merlin figures out how to get us back."

"We can't leave until Voldemort is either defeated or back in his time," Harry said firmly, the fear in his eyes betraying the strength of his words. "I am  _not_  going to leave Camelot at his mercy—I can about guarantee that they have never had to face a dark wizard as bad as him before."

There was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" Hermione asked, wondering who would be visiting this early in the afternoon.

"It's Guinevere and the Lady Morgana," Gwen's voice called through the door. The three friends exchanged glances before telling the two visitors to come in.

* * *

Morgana had asked Gwen to accompany her to call on the three strangers. Although she had been planning to visit alone, she had felt a sudden apprehension about going alone, afraid that someone would find out about her interest, the connection she felt with them, especially the dark-haired one with the scar. She thought that if she had her handmaiden accompany her, however, that she could avoid suspicion because they went together. She wasn't sure why she was so afraid someone would find out about how she felt whenever Harry Potter was around, the strange connection she felt with this boy that had been touched by dark magic.

Gwen opened the door when they bid them to come in, holding it open for her mistress. Upon entering the room, the king's ward let her grayish green eyes scan the room, her eyes resting on each of the guests in turn.

The girl, Hermione, smiled sweetly at Gwen. "Hello, Guinevere," she said almost shyly. "I don't think I ever thanked you for helping us out the first night we arrived here—we really appreciate it."

Morgana saw her maid blush at the praise. "It was nothing," the serving girl said humbly.

Hermione turned her gaze onto Morgana, and her eyes suddenly turned cold. She nodded her head quickly in Morgana's general direction, but otherwise did not acknowledge the beautiful woman. Morgana wondered yet again why the girl seemed to hate her so much. As far as Morgana knew, they had never crossed paths in the past. Why did Hermione Granger harbor such resentment against her?

Her eyes fell on the red-haired boy, Ron, who was smiling dumbly at her and her maid. "Hi, Gwen," he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes. He bowed ridiculously low in Morgana's direction and with a flourish of his long, gangly arms and hands, said, "My Lady."

Morgana stared at him, not sure what to make of this boy, torn between being frightened or flattered by his affections—if you could call them that. Gwen simply laughed and smiled at her friend. "Hello, Ronald."

Morgana's heart nearly stopped when her eyes landed on Harry, who had been pacing around the room. He stopped, his green eyes locking onto hers from beneath his spectacles. Could he feel the tingling connection, the prickle of power that seemed to stream between the two of them? She couldn't tell, for all he did was smile at Gwen and nod at Morgana. "Lady Morgana."

She smiled, suddenly feeling awkward, knowing that Gwen did as well and feeling bad for dragging her friend and maid along. "I…we were just wanting to see how you were doing," Morgana said, smiling nervously at Harry, her heart pounding madly in her chest. Why did he affect her so?

Gwen nodded, confirming what Morgana had said. "We heard that you passed out; Arthur told us."

Harry smiled but the smile didn't quite reach those stunning eyes of his. Morgana could tell that there was something seriously bothering the boy, something nagging at his mind, just like something was bothering hers.

She almost shivered right there, thinking of the terrible nightmare she had had. It was bad enough when she dreamed of Arthur dying, but Merlin? He was so innocent, so meek...No one should ever even  _think_  about harming him. He was just…Merlin. He didn't deserve the pain she had seen him in, and she was sure that he wouldn't be able to withstand it for long. She had been terrified for him, and she could tell that Arthur was worried about him, too, despite her insistence to him that it was a dream and nothing more.

She shook herself out of her troubling thoughts as Harry answered slowly. "I'm fine…just…tired."

Morgana nodded. "I know the feeling," she admitted ruefully.

She saw Harry look at her in concern. The connection seemed to strengthen and her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly it seemed as if the two of them were the only ones in the room. "And you?" Harry asked. "Hermione and Ron told me that you had a nightmare and were sick last night. Are you alright?"

Morgana looked down. "I—yes," she lied, smiling sweetly at him.

Harry nodded. "Good."

She returned the gesture with a nod of her own head. "Good," she repeated. There was a hesitant pause, and then she said, "We must go. Come on, Gwen." She strode out of the room, Gwen following after sending a slightly confused and apologetic glance at her friends.

Ron shook his head, still staring at the door from which the two beautiful women had exited. "What the bloody  _hell_  was that about?"

* * *

It was well past midnight when Merlin finally came to them. "Where've you been?" Ron griped, looking at his bed with longing in his eyes and voice. "I'm not going to get a lick of sleep tonight."

Merlin, who was out of breath, looked at Ron incredulously. "I have been…" he panted, "…running after Arthur…all day long. He used me…for his training dummy…I cleaned his armor, laundry, room…and then before he went to bed, I got a thirty minute lecture on watching my back and if I see any potential danger come to him and don't make him have to come rescue me…" He made a face, finally managing to get his breath back. "And when I got back, Gaius had me clean his leech tank—"

"Ah," Ron and Harry both sympathized at the same time.

Merlin looked at them oddly. "What would  _you_ know about the horrors of cleaning a leech tank?"

The two boys exchanged glances. "We've gotten plenty of detentions from Snape," Harry explained.

"He has leech tanks," Ron added, grimacing. "Along with other kinds of tanks that you don't even want to  _think_  about." He shuddered.

Merlin grinned but didn't ask what kind of tanks Ron and Harry had had to scrub. Instead, he went on, "And  _then_  I had to sneak over here to get you guys."

Hermione smiled at Merlin. She hardly blushed at all when she was around him anymore, most of her nervousness being dispelled after their long, heartfelt talk the night before. Their bond as friends had strengthened, and while her heart still fluttered whenever he came near, she felt more comfortable with him. She was getting to know him as Merlin the person, not just Merlin the legendary wizard. "It's okay, Merlin. Harry and I don't mind waiting up late for you, do we, Harry?"

Harry chose the wrong moment to let out a huge yawn and Hermione glared at him. "Well,  _I_ don't mind."

Merlin laughed. "Thanks."

"So whatever you've got us up this late for had better be good," Ron said grumpily.

"Are you going to teach us magic?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Shhh!" Merlin hissed. "Even though it's the middle of the nights, the guards still do their rounds. If you're going to talk about magic, do it quietly, okay? I  _don't_  want to see any of your heads on the chopping block."

Hermione paled in the flickering light of the candle.

Merlin went on. "And no, I wanted to take you to meet my friend, Kilgharra, tonight. He is the one who might be able to help you get home."

"But we can't leave now," Hermione protested. "Not yet." Between Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the three of them were able to relate to Merlin what Harry had dreamed and how Voldemort had joined forces with a beautiful, mysterious woman.

Merlin had paled considerably with this news. "What did the woman look like?" he asked Harry urgently, his mind whirring from what he had learned from his previous conversation with Kilgharra. He had a pretty good idea of who this mysterious woman was, but he wanted Harry to confirm it before he jumped to any conclusions.

Harry closed his eyes as if trying to remember the dream better. "Beautiful," he breathed. "Her hair was dark and her eyes the most beautiful blue I have ever imagined. Her face was pale, like porcelain, and her complexion was perfect. She had long eyelashes and perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her lips were red…."

Merlin closed his eyes briefly. "I think I know who it is—Nimueh. She is a very powerful sorceress and she has tried to make Camelot fall several times in the past, as well as kill me and Arthur. She poisoned me, and if it hadn't been for Arthur, I certainly would not be here now. He risked everything to save me."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exchanged knowing glances, remembering their previous conversation over dinner with the prince. If only Merlin knew how much his near death had affected Arthur. It tore the prince up inside, even months later.

"She said something about Voldemort helping her defeat 'the great warlock,'" Harry recalled. "Do you think she meant you?"

Merlin shrugged self-consciously. "I'm not really that great, despite what everyone seems to think." When his friends didn't answer, he said, "Let's go and visit Kilgharra. He may be able to give us some answers—that is, if you all are up to trying to decipher his riddles."

* * *

Arthur couldn't sleep. Merlin had blown out the candle and left the prince in his chambers for the night, but only after Arthur had given him a speech on being careful. Arthur couldn't get Morgana's words out of his head.

She insisted that they were only dreams, but Arthur wasn't so sure. Many of Morgana's dreams seemed to have an uncanny tendency to come true as of late. Besides that, Arthur just had a  _feeling_ , this dreadful ache in his chest, that told him that something just wasn't right.

_Morgana dreamed that Merlin was going to suffer unimaginable pain before dying a slow and painful death._

He rolled over underneath his soft, thick covers and pounded his plush pillow mercilessly in a vain attempt to make it more comfortable to rest his head on. Merlin and suffer…two words he  _really_ didn't fancy hearing in the same sentence.

He remembered how Merlin had wriggled in pain, sweat beading his brow, gasping for air, after he had been poisoned. He had suffered then, and even though Arthur would never admit it, Merlin's pain had scared the prince out of his wits. Despite his quirks and the way he could both enrage and humble Arthur with just a few words, Arthur really did care for his servant. Merlin was a good friend, his  _best_  friend, in fact, and to think of his  _friend_ going through unspeakable torture was ripping Arthur apart inside.

He couldn't imagine why anyone would want to deliberately harm the clumsy, goofy, smart-mouthed servant. He was so honest, so innocent, so…helpless (as far as Arthur knew). Merlin would never hurt a fly and his heart was pure. He had a way of making people think about their actions and bring them down to earth when their heads inflated because of a recent victory. He was there when Arthur needed to vent, usually bearing the brunt of the prince's anger and often giving uncharacteristically words of advice.

 _Why_  would anyone feel the need to hurt, to torture, someone as defenseless and pure as his servant? Arthur just couldn't understand it, but he was terrified that Morgana's dream was going to come true. After all he had risked to save Merlin when he had been poisoned, Arthur didn't think he could handle losing the servant.

Groaning wearily, just wishing he could get to sleep and stop worrying about this for the night, Arthur finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep, during which Merlin, his best friend, went through merciless tortures over and over and over…

And Arthur just wished that he had never fallen asleep. It seemed that there was no end to the worry.

* * *

 _"Leohtbora."_  Merlin used his magic to light a torch at the top of the stairs.

Pulling out their wands that they had retrieved before leaving to meet Merlin's friend, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, added their own light to the flickering flame, each saying,  _"Lumos_. _"_  The tips of their wands lit up.

"So who is this Kilgharra bloke anyway?" Ron wondered. "And why does he live in a cave under the castle?"

"Because," Merlin said, smiling as if he had some great secret he couldn't wait to reveal. "Kilgharra is—"

He was cut off as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stood on the ledge that jutted out into the huge underground cavern. Kilgharra, the mighty dragon, was perched on his customary rock, golden eyes glowering down at the four visitors with a combination of curiosity and annoyance.

"A dragon," Kilgharra finished for the young warlock.


	16. Kilgharra's Riddle

"Bloody hell..." Ron's voice trailed off into a weak whimper as he stared up…and up…and up at the colossal, magical reptile perched on a rock, golden eyes glimmering in the darkness of the cave.

Merlin smirked, obviously quite pleased with himself, having caught his three new friends off guard. His delight faded, however, when Hermione let out a terrified squeak, her eyes wide and unblinking as she watched the beast with awe and fright.

Harry, on the other hand, took a step closer to the edge, a step closer to Kilgharra, his eyes wide beneath the lenses of his glasses. Oddly, he felt no fear. He had faced a dragon two years ago, during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and that had been petrifying. This dragon, on the other hand, was different. Older. Wiser.

Ron finally shook himself from his stupor, backing away slowly. "Y-you can talk!" he whispered.

Kilgharra eyed the red haired boy with something akin to disdain, but when he spoke again, his magical voice was laced with amusement. "How observant you are, young wizard. Camelot could no doubt use your keen powers of observation."

Hermione, still watching the dragon warily, let out a nervous laugh. She rounded on Merlin, who had yet to be on the receiving end of one of her fits. "You didn't think to warn us that your friend is a  _dragon!_ " she snarled, and the most powerful warlock in history actually took a few steps back, almost cowering under Hermione's glare.

"Sorry?" he mumbled hesitantly, glancing up at Kilgharra for help.

The Great Dragon merely laughed, his chuckles echoing off the musky walls of the cave. "Sometimes, young warlock," he advised, "it is best to dispose of the element of surprise and simply tell the truth." Seeing the flabbergasted look on Ron's face and snorting in amusement, Kilgharra went on, "Then again, sometimes springing a dragon on your new friends can have some very satisfying effects."

Ron scowled.

Kilgharra turned his attention to Harry. "You have yet to speak, young one," he observed, almost kindly. "And yet I sense that you have the power to speak to me…in more than one way."

Merlin glanced at Harry curiously. "What's he talking about?"

Harry frowned. "Well, I can talk to snakes," he supplied cautiously, "but I don't see how that…" his voice trailed off, but Kilgharra's eyes gleamed and he spoke again.

"The art of Parseltongue is not just the ability to talk to snakes, young Potter—it is a way to speak to all manner of creatures kin to snakes. Yours is a very rare power, indeed."

Merlin gaped at Harry. "You can talk to…snakes?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed. "Er, yeah, I guess so," he mumbled. "I…eh…accidentally set a python free when I was eleven on my cousin, Dudley." Merlin's eyes widened. "I didn't mean to," Harry quickly reassured him. "And it didn't try to hurt him, honest."

Merlin let out a quick shout of laughter. "Oh, I don't blame you, Harry—from what you've told me about that cousin of yours, I don't think I would've been too sad if the snake had swallowed him up if I were you." Harry snorted in agreement or laughter—or maybe a combination of the two. Merlin couldn't be quite sure, but he saw Harry's (and Ron's, especially) face break out into a grin when he added deviously, "I was just wondering if you could set one on Arthur—nothing dangerous, of course, but just enough to make him squirm."

Ron and Harry burst out laughing while Hermione made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sniff of disapproval. The resulting sound reminded Harry of a sound Hermione's fluffy, grumpy cat, Crookshanks, might make whilst hacking up a particularly nasty hairball. Merlin looked at Hermione, grinning, and her cheeks went red.

She turned her gaze to Kilgharra, who she could tell was no longer a threat. "Why are you down here?" she asked, reverence in her tone.

Kilgharra eyed the young witch with a steady eye, lowering his massive head to meet her gaze, yet remaining wary of her boundaries so as not to frighten her too much. "I can sense you have a big heart, young lady," he almost purred. She swallowed, the air in the cavern going thick with unreleased tension as all four wizards sensed that this was a subject that the Great Dragon did  _not_ take lightly. "Uther had every other one of my kin slaughtered," he growled, "and our respective dragon lords as well."

He didn't know why, but Merlin felt a shiver go down his spine at the word "dragon lord." He made a point to ask Gaius what they were later.

Hermione's face was frozen in shock, her eyes fiery and livid, as Kilgharra continued. "Uther told the last dragon lord that he wanted to make peace with the last dragon, so the dragon lord—" his great topaz eyes swiveled in Merlin's direction for the breadth of a second, so quickly that Merlin wasn't even sure if Kilgharra had actually shifted his gaze, "—brought me to Uther. But the king betrayed him,  _betrayed us BOTH!_ " he thundered, causing the rock walls of the cave to shiver from the force of his words. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and even Merlin, who had witnessed the dragon's rage before, all backed up a few steps, so great was the giant beasts anger. "Uther chained me in this damned cavern beneath Camelot as an example.

" _Me_ —the last of my kind. I, Kilgharra, the very last of my noble breed. Forced to dwell in this hell-like darkness, a chain confining me under the castle—I cannot tell you when the last time I spread my wings and flew freely through the skies was." His voice lowered dangerously. "To answer your question, little witch, I am here because of  _Uther_." The name was spat like the vilest poison.

Merlin was shocked. He had seen Kilgharra angry before—hell, the dragon's anger had been directed at  _him_ before—but never had he seen this rage, this bitterness, this sense of hopelessness in him. Even though the thought of what Uther had done to this creature of phenomenal power, Merlin couldn't help but feel a chill roll down his spine at the pure venom that drenched Kilgharra's every word. The warlock had a feeling that if Great Dragon were ever freed, vengeance would be the first thing on his mind. He was terrified to even begin to contemplate the damage that could be done by the dragon.

Hermione, however, had no reservations whatsoever about what needed to be done. "Uther Pendragon is a heartless, horrible, tyrannical  _pig_!" she snarled, tears welling up in her eyes.

Kilgharra, finally calming down, chuckled almost sinisterly. "I cannot say that I disagree, little witch," he muttered darkly.

"Dragons are magnificent creatures, so noble, so brave…" she sighed. "How could  _anyone_  even  _think_ about trying to contain them, to take away their freedom? It's barbaric!" Merlin felt his sense of respect for the three wizards, especially Hermione, swell tremendously. Kilgharra was right—she had a big heart. He was sincerely proud to call her—to call them  _all_ —his friends.

Ron and Harry exchanged quick glances before Ron stepped in meekly, almost as if afraid of how Hermione would react to whatever it was that he had to say. "Noble?" he asked. "Hermione, do you honestly think that _Norbert_ was noble? That little… _thing_ …nearly destroyed Hagrid's house, almost got us expelled, and then Charlie lets us know that he's a bloody she! And you know what that means?" There was a beat. " _More little bloody Norberts!_ "

Hermione looked like she was going to snap at her friend, but a thoughtful expression came onto her face. "Ron, you may actually have a point," she mused.

Ron looked shocked. "I do?" he asked incredulously.

Harry stared. "He does?"

Ron snorted. "I mean—yeah, yeah…of course I do."

Merlin exchanged a glance with the dragon which said something along the lines of  _I told you they were something else._

Ron's ginger eyebrows met above his nose as his brow furrowed. "Er…what exactly is my point again?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione answered, "Kilgharra says that he is the last of his kind. Yet we are from the future, and there are dragons there. Harry  _faced_ one for crying out loud!"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, and my brother, Charlie, works with and studies dragons in Romania. He's  _never_ encountered a dragon that can talk—I mean, dragons  _can't_ bloody talk!"

Harry laughed. "Ron—I hate to, er, prove you wrong, but we're talking to one right now."

Kilgharra's great gold eyes narrowed. "I am the last of the  _true_  dragons," he said nobly.

Hermione looked surprised (which was something unusual for her; normally she had that "I knew that" look about her no matter what ridiculous piece of pointless information someone sprung upon her). " _True_  dragons?" she asked. "Are you saying the dragons in our time aren't real?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "That dragon I faced in the tournament was real enough to me."

Ron made a face. "Yeah, and when Norbert—oh, excuse me,  _Norberta_ —bit me, that was definitely  _not_  my imagination! My hand was blue and purple for a bloody week! A whole  _bloody_  week!" he fussed indignantly.

Kilgharra scoffed. "Those beasts you call dragons are not of pure dragon blood. I have heard of them, although they are all in hiding."

Merlin looked surprised. "You mean to say…there really are more dragons out there?"

"Not true dragons," the Great Dragon replied haughtily. "They are creatures, giant lizards, really—no real brains at all. Dumb animals. Beasts. They are not wise, they cannot speak, and not even a dragon lord can tame them, because they are  _not_ dragons. Your people in the future must call them dragons because they do not know the raw power and nobility that is a  _real_ dragon." His temper flared up again. "All because of  _Uther Pendragon!_ "

"I agree, it's absolutely the most terrible thing I've ever heard," Hermione said. "I wish I could set you free right now."

Kilgharra's eyes snapped to hers but Merlin quickly intervened, changing the subject subtly—but not so subtly that the Great Dragon didn't notice.

"I know you said that it could prove to be a risk bringing them to meet you," Merlin said, "but I knew that they would never forgive me if they passed this opportunity up. Plus, they might can supply you with information that I cannot. We really need to try and find a way to get them back—after we figure out what Nimueh's up to. She brought them here, and someone else too."

The dragon eyed Merlin through narrowed eyes for the briefest of moments, allowing the warlock no way  _not_ to realize that Kilgharra had noticed the swift change of subject. Merlin swallowed heavily, but retained eye contact with Kilgharra. "Please," Merlin said desperately, "they are going to do something horrible…we all know it."

Sighing, Kilgharra gave in. "Tell me everything."

And so they did.

Harry started by telling the dragon about the voice he had heard—Nimueh's voice, he now figured—that woke him from his sleep, enticing him to go to the seventh floor corridor. He did his best to explain, with some helpful (and some not-so-helpful) interjections from Ron and Hermione, about the Room of Requirement, and how somehow Nimueh had used the Room to guide them, lure them to Camelot.

Merlin talked about their first meeting, skimming over the parts about him becoming the greatest warlock ever known. This time, it wasn't exactly because the praise made him feel uncomfortable, but he didn't think that Kilgharra needed anything else to back up his ceaseless talk about destiny and about Merlin's great future.

Ron told about meeting Morgana, but his eyes got a slightly dreamy expression as he slipped into some sort of fantasy. After giving him a swift elbow in the ribs, Hermione had taken over that portion of the story.

Merlin told Kilgharra about Morgana's dream.

Harry told the dragon about his.

When they had finished, Kilgharra was silent for several tense, long moments before speaking again. "This man you speak of, Voldemort," he said, the tone and power in his voice making everyone—even Merlin and Harry—tremble slightly at the name, "is indeed in Camelot, especially since the witch has seen as much."

Merlin fumed. "She's not a witch!"

"I have told you a thousand times, and I will tell you again,  _Merlin_ ," Kilgharra snapped none too patiently, "the Lady Morgana  _cannot_ be trusted. She is not a witch who can be trusted, like the little witch here," he praised Hermione, who blushed slightly. "Hers is a destiny of darkness."

Hermione smirked in Ron's general direction, every ounce of her being literally screaming "I told you so!"

Merlin glared at the dragon. "She's my friend," he fumed. "What are you trying to say?"

The Great Dragon chuckled. "I do not have the power to send anyone through time, to past or future."

Merlin shook his head. "But you've got to know some way!" he insisted. "And you have to know some way to defeat Nimueh and Voldemort!"

"With their powers combined, two evils will be much greater than one—but their greatest strength is also their greatest weakness."

Ron shook his head. "What does that mean?"

Kilgharra eyed each of the four in turn. "You must find a way to turn their power into their lack thereof. And Merlin, yours is a great destiny—as I am sure your friends have already told you."

Merlin stared. "How did you know?"

Kilgharra laughed. "They are from the future, and you have great power and a great destiny ahead of you. Of course they know of you and your legendary feats."

Merlin scowled. "What are you trying to say?" he griped.

"Patience, young warlock." Pause. "Just as Nimueh has found a way to breach the mists of time, so can you. I cannot tell you where to look for such knowledge, but I do know that you are capable of performing it."

"Thanks," Merlin said sarcastically. "That  _really_  sheds some light on things."

Kilgharra lifted off, his great wings beating the air as Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked on in awe; Merlin watching in annoyance. "Remember—strength can become weakness. Find a way to shift that power to powerlessness and you just might have a chance at defeating these foes. But heed my warning—when you do, and if you find a way to get your friends back to their own time, you  _must_ find a way to fix what you have destroyed. The future cannot be altered in any way, or your destiny, and Arthur's, may never come to pass."

After he had disappeared, Hermione sighed. "Will he be back?"

Snorting, Merlin answered, "No. Definitely not, tonight at least. When he's done talking, he's done talking."

Harry frowned. "What did he mean, turn their strength into weakness?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Sounded like a bloody nutter if you ask me." There was a low growl from somewhere within the cave.

"I heard that, young wizardling," the dragon's voice echoed eerily throughout the cavern.

Ron gulped while his three friends had a quick laugh at his expense.

As they made their way back to the guest chambers, where Merlin made sure they got back safely without being caught, Merlin whispered, "I told you, he rarely gives straight answers."

Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "I know it's something simple—but I just can't seem to grasp it right now," she murmured, frustrated.

"He speaks in riddles," Merlin agreed.

"Don't worry, mate," Harry said when they got to the room. "Everything'll work out. You'll see."

Merlin nodded, though he was sure the doubt was as prominent in his eyes as it was in the trio's. "Yeah," he said gloomily. "Night."

Merlin was almost to Gaius's chambers, ready to fall into bed and sleep for the rest of the night that remained, when he got the oddest feeling in the pit of his stomach and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He decided it was nerves, however, and continued to sneak down the corridor.

Just as he passed a dark hallway, Merlin let out a muffled shout as someone from the shadowy corridor clamped a strong hand over his mouth and dragged him into the deserted hall.


	17. Worry

Merlin struggled against his captor, wriggling desperately as whoever had grabbed him twisted his arm behind his back and kept their hand over his mouth. His heart thudded wildly in his chest. He literally had to force himself not to use his magic to escape their grip; his magic was bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to spring forth to his aid.

It was a good thing that he did not allow his magic to help him, however, because a moment later an annoyed voice hissed in his ear, " _Stop struggling,_ Mer _lin!_ "

Arthur?

Merlin instantly stilled and the hand was removed from his mouth, his arm released from his master's strong but not cruel grip. A hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around so that his back was against the wall of the poorly lit corridor. Arthur stood about a foot from Merlin, glaring daggers at the dark-haired young man. "What the  _hell_  do you think you're doing,  _Mer_ lin?" he demanded angrily, his voice laced with annoyance and something that sounded suspiciously akin to worry.

Merlin gaped at Arthur, whose face was pale and dangerous in the wan torch light, his blue eyes flashing with dangerous fire and his mouth set into a thin line. His hair was disheveled, like he had just gotten out of bed and his clothes were a bit rumpled. "What do  _I_  think  _I'm_ doing?" Merlin retorted incredulously. " _I'm_  not the one who attacked me!"

Arthur shook his head, still glowering at Merlin. "You  _know_  it's not safe to be wandering around the castle so late, and you  _know_ it's not allowed for you to do so. You're not  _supposed_  to be  _skulking_ around the dark halls of Camelot throughout all hours of the night."

Merlin tried to shake his shoulder free from Arthur's grasp, but the prince simply gripped it tighter, looking at Merlin expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Indignantly, Merlin snapped, "I wasn't  _skulking_!"

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. "You're right about that—whatever you were doing, 'sneaking' around like a small elephant, certainly couldn't be considered 'skulking'—stampeding, maybe, but not skulking."

Merlin snorted. "I only tripped twice," he feebly defended himself, but Arthur wasn't interested in his servant's attempt at lightening the situation.

"You didn't answer my question,  _Mer_ lin. What are you doing, running around the castle at night when you are supposed to be sleeping?"

Merlin racked his brain, trying to think of an excuse that wouldn't implicate Harry, Ron, and Hermione for being out so late as well, and that didn't involve a giant, magical dragon. "I…er…was visiting with Ron, Harry, and Hermione. We lost track of time, and when I realized how late it was I decided to try and sneak back to Gaius's chambers rather than spend the night sleeping on the guest room's floor." He paused, eyeing the prince suspiciously. "Hang on," he said. "What are  _you_  doing, hanging around in dark corridors in the middle of the night?"

Arthur finally let go of Merlin's shoulder, and the warlock brought his hand up to massage it—Arthur certainly had a tight grip! "That's none of your business,  _Mer_ lin," the prince said loftily. " _I_ am the crown prince of Camelot. My reasons for being out of bed in the middle of the night are mine and mine alone.  _You_ are just a servant, remember? If you're caught by the guards, they'll be much less lenient on  _you_  considering I can just order them to leave me alone."

"Well, you certainly scared me to death," Merlin griped, stifling a yawn. He  _really_ wanted to sleep; Arthur would undoubtedly want him bright and early with his breakfast the next morning and the servant wanted to get at least a  _little_ sleep before having to get up again.

Arthur grinned. "Good. That'll teach you to go wandering around the castle after hours. What if it hadn't been me, Merlin? What if I  _had_ been someone with intentions of causing you harm? You're just lucky it was I who found you first, you idiot, and not some sorcerer or criminal wanting to cause you pain." He clamped his mouth shut as if afraid he had said too much.

The gears in Merlin's head were whirring away as he processed this new plethora of information. Arthur alone in a dark corridor that was part of the way to get from his chambers to Gaius's. The angry demanding of the prince to know where he'd been, why he was out late, and what he'd been doing. The spark of fear he'd sensed in Arthur's demeanor when he insisted on the danger Merlin would have been in if it had been someone intent of causing him harm…

Morgana's dream. Arthur was worried about him—considering how close they were to the physician's chambers, his friend had been more than likely attempting to check on Merlin, to make sure he was okay. Why Arthur would choose the middle of the night to do so was beyond Merlin, but he still felt a flutter of warmth stir in his heart and more than a twinge of guilt for worrying the prince so much. Despite how adamantly he denied it, Arthur really did care.

"Sorry," Merlin said sincerely. He lowered his eyes, feeling bad for causing the prince distress. Normally he would be teasing Arthur by now, goading him about how he really is friends with him, but Merlin had seen true worry in his friend's eyes and didn't want to add to it by being smarmy.

Arthur sighed. "Look, Merlin. Just…don't do it again, okay?" He sounded almost defeated. Merlin took a closer look at him and saw that he had dark rings beneath his eyes, like he had had trouble sleeping. His eyes looked haunted, scared. Surely Morgana's words the other day hadn't affected him  _that_ badly? After all, even though Merlin knew he cared, it was still hard to process that the royal prat could actually be  _this_ worried about a servant (especially a servant that he complained about twenty-four/seven). His bossy, arrogant tone returned and he said, "I swear,  _Mer_ lin, if I have to come and bail you out of some sort of  _stupid_  situation you get yourself into, I will make your life a living  _hell_."

Merlin smirked and put on a confused, all-too-innocent expression. "I thought you already did that, Arthur?"

Glaring, Arthur grasped Merlin at the base of his neck in his strong hand and pulled him along with him toward Gaius's chambers. When they got to the stairs and the sign that pointed to the  _Court Physician_ , the prince gave his servant a gentle shove. "Go to bed, you idiot," he muttered. "And heaven help you if I catch you running around after hours again."

Merlin unconsciously rubbed the back of his neck as he ascended the stairs, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at his master. "Yes,  _Sire_ ," he said almost cheekily, but Arthur heard the new respect intertwined with the sarcasm and realized that Merlin had figured it out.

The last thing Merlin heard before he crept back into Gaius's chambers was Arthur's almost affectionate guffaw of, "Idiot."

* * *

Arthur walked back toward his room, his heart pounding and head aching. It was true that he hadn't slept well. When he had finally managed to get to sleep after fretting about what Morgana's dream meant for his loyal manservant, he had been plagued with dreams about hideous evils befalling Merlin, the boy writhing in agony and dying slowly.

He had woken with a start, sweaty and terrified, from a particularly graphic dream in which Merlin had been lying on the ground, twitching and convulsing, screaming in agony, and blood pouring from multiple wounds and lacerations all over his battered and disfigured body. The image had been sickening, absolutely dreadful; and then a giant snake had slithered up and swallowed the dying boy whole. It had been…indescribably horrific.

Arthur had woken with such a grip of urgency snatching at his heart and an intense fear pounding through his body like a relentless wave of icy water. He  _had_ to make sure Merlin was alright; forget the fact that it was well past midnight. The dream had shaken him so badly, scared him so much, that in his tormented mind there was no other option but to throw on the first tunic and trousers he laid his hands on and head straight to Merlin's room and make  _sure_  that the insufferable idiot was truly alive and well. He just couldn't get that heinous image of his servant…of his best friend…suffering and bleeding and being consumed by that monstrous serpent—he would  _never_ look at a snake in the same light again,  _ever_ , after that nightmare.

He had just been about to turn right out of the dim corridor he was walking down, almost to Gaius's chambers, when he had heard a muffled "ow" and the sound of heavy footsteps trying but failing miserably at sounding _light coming_ from the perpendicular hallway and he realized with a blaze of rage that it was the bloody moron,  _Mer_ lin, attempting to creep back from heaven knows where to his home in the middle of the night.

Anger had gripped him in its clutches as he thought about how Merlin had so obviously ignored his warnings the night he had left him after Morgana had told them about her dream. How dare he run around after dark and put his worthless hide in danger after Arthur had expressly ordered him  _not_  to do anything dangerous? Was there no end to the imbecile's idiocy? With the servant running around like this, he was just making it  _easy_  for someone to snatch him and cart him away somewhere far away from civilization, somewhere where no one would ever hear his screams…

That had been the last straw, although Arthur had convinced himself that he was irritated because of Merlin's blatant disobedience to the prince's orders instead of putting his life in danger by waltzing around the castle unprotected in the wee hours of the morning. Damn idiot.

He had plastered himself against the wall, shrouded in shadows so that Merlin wouldn't see him. He had watched as the boy had snuck—or more accurately,  _stumbled_ —closer and closer. When he was close enough, Arthur had shot his hand out of the darkness and clamped it around his friend's mouth, feeling him tense up with fright when some unknown assailant snatched him and dragged him into a dark corridor. He had almost relented when he had heard the gasp of terror and felt Merlin start struggling; he  _almost_ felt bad for causing his servant to be so obviously terrified. But then he had reminded himself that the bloody, reckless young man had been marching around with no regard for his own personal safety and he had twisted his arm swiftly but gently behind his back.

Maybe a good scare would put that head on straight, although Arthur seriously doubted it.

Now, as he quietly closed the door to his room and sank onto his bed without bothering to change back into his nightclothes, he cursed himself for getting so wound up over a stupid, useless servant. He ignored the voice in the back of his mind, a voice that had been growing steadily stronger over the past few weeks and had been nearly impossible to ignore since the strangers from the land of Hogwarts had appeared. The voice insisted that Merlin was  _more_ than just Arthur's idiotic, incompetent servant. That bloody voice forced its way past Arthur's mental barriers and repeated its silent mantra that no, Merlin was not just Arthur's idiotic, incompetent  _servant_ , but that he was also Arthur's idiotic, incompetent  _friend—_ his best friend.

Arthur had been struggling with this for a long time, ever since he had risked it all to save Merlin from that witch Nimueh's poison. The events of the past several days had only served to strengthen his knowledge that Merlin was indeed his closest friend. After all, although Arthur cared deeply about all the people of Camelot, he probably wouldn't have willingly defied his father and gone on such a dangerous mission for just anyone.

What was it about Merlin? He was rude, lazy, clumsy, idiotic, and utterly obnoxious? How had he managed to pull at Arthur's carefully guarded heartstrings and become the friend Arthur had never had, the brother that the prince had never known? Turning over in bed, Arthur let a small, almost non-existent smile grace his lips for the merest fraction of a section.

Merlin was also funny, respectful when propriety called for it, helpful, brave, and loyal to a fault. He had stuck by Arthur no matter what the latter had thrown at him. And he wasn't exactly  _rude_. He was just  _honest._  Yes, a lot of that honesty did come out as sarcasm, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Sarcasm was a language that Arthur spoke very well.

He made Arthur see the truth, no matter how unappealing said truth might be. Arthur had never met anyone like him before, someone so oblivious to how things worked in a hierarchy, someone who treated Arthur like Arthur the Prat instead of Arthur the Prince. Merlin didn't walk on eggshells around him, but he didn't cross the line when joking around with the prince or trying to get his point across.

Merlin was unique. He was just…Merlin.

Sighing, Arthur felt a pang of regret at just how poorly he had treated his friend—one of the only  _true_ friends he had ever had. But he couldn't just blow off what society expected, could he, for the sake of a servant's friendship? Or could he?

He just didn't know. He didn't know much of anything anymore. He let out a little laugh, knowing that Merlin would have a  _lot_ to say about Arthur's lack of knowledge.

As he closed his eyes and slowly began to drift off into yet another uneasy sleep, he thought about the three people who had arrived in Camelot and reflected on how they—Hermione Granger in particular—reminded him of Merlin. They, too, spoke their minds. Arthur found himself wishing for a time when nobles and commoners could be friends.

If it hadn't been for Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and  _especially_ Hermione Granger, Arthur had a feeling that these foreign thoughts and feelings wouldn't be crossing his mind at all. They had made everything  _so_ bloody confusing, and yet, he mused as he began to fade into slumber, he found that he wasn't annoyed about their impact on him any longer. In fact, he was actually kind of grateful.

* * *

Voldemort glared icily at Nimueh, his small reserve of patience at its very end. "I am  _not_ going to waste my time sitting here in this damn cave much longer, Nimueh," he warned dangerously.

She raised her delicate eyebrows, her expression mocking. "No, Lord Voldemort?" she questioned airily. "So you no longer are in need of my service to help you destroy Harry Potter and his friends?"

Voldemort hissed, his large, ugly snake, Nagini, coiling about the hems of his billowing black robes. "I do not  _need_ you!" he ranted. "You have been  _given_ the opportunity to work with the greatest wizard sorcerer-kind has ever known!"

Nimueh chuckled, not fazed in the slightest. "Have I, then?" Her voice grew hard and cold. "Have you forgotten,  _My Lord_ , that it was  _you_  who called my spirit to your time, asking me to help you defeat your foes? You longed for my expansive knowledge of the ancient magic you and your enemy know not; you  _needed_ a priestess of the Old Religion, and not just any priestess—the most powerful, one who has the power of Time and Fate in her hands!" Her eyes flashing, she went on, "I have been granted  _nothing_  of value except for a chance to listen to a power-hungry, impatient  _fool_ who believes that his meager knowledge of the world is enough to frighten those much more knowledgeable than him!"

Growling furiously, Voldemort pulled out his wand, but Nimueh held up her hand. "Please, Lord Voldemort," she said in a much calmer tone, "do not let us fight between ourselves. After all, you  _do_ need my help, and I will admit that I require yours. It does not stain my pride to say so."

Voldemort narrowed his blood-red eyes at the breathtaking priestess but did place his wand back in his robes.

Nimueh smiled and continued, "We cannot succeed if we constantly are at each other's throats," she told him, walking back over to her scrying cauldron and peering in, watching an image of some servants getting together hunting gear and supplies for sometime within the next few days. "Besides," she crooned wickedly, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of finally defeating the cursed Merlin and his precious prince, "we do not have to wait much longer at all for the little wizards and the oblivious prince to waltz right into our hands."

"And if they do not?" Voldemort snapped, not willing to look chastised in the slightest, although Nimueh knew that she had to have done some sort of damage to his ego…unless he really  _was_ as heartless as he seemed to think he was. She had a feeling that although he had his flaws, he was indeed extremely powerful and dangerous. If it were not for her own great power and extensive knowledge of ancient magic of the Old Religion, she would more than likely be cowering at his feet. As it was, the decided that it was best they remained on relatively equal ground…they could not afford to become each other's enemies…yet.

"Do not worry," Nimueh breathed, her eyes still fastened to the image in the water of servants and knights gathering supplies for a hunting excursion for the next day or the day after that at least. "They will come."


	18. A Lovely Surprise

Harry stood outside the door, his fist poised in front of the heavy wood as he prepared to knock. He was nervous, but he felt this was something he had to do. He didn't understand her; not at all and he knew the stories about her. But still…there was something different about her, something real and loving and caring that extended from her heart and touched nearly everyone she spoke to. Harry just didn't understand how someone famous for being an evil witch that wielded dark powers could be so nice. She had a genuine courage and sense of honor about her and he wanted to know more.

When she and Gwen had gone to visit them the other day and she met his eyes with her own, he had seen something in them, a fiery determination riddled with insecurity. Something in those greenish-gray depths had reminded him of…well, himself.

He also sensed that she was very interested in him. This wasn't an egotistical assumption and he certainly wasn't implying that she was interested in him in a  _romantic_  way. After all, for a beauty like Morgana to view him in a realm beyond friendship was preposterous. And even if by some oddity she  _did_ see him that way, he had no feelings for her other than strong curiosity and a desire to be friends, to find out more about her, to help her and sympathize with her.

She was troubled, he could tell from the way her eyes would meet his and then glanced to the ground; the way that she would eye him curiously, almost breathlessly, whenever their paths would cross. She felt  _something_ , whether it was simply the raging curiosity and desire to learn more that he had for her, or a stronger connection.

He sighed, mustering his courage and knocking lightly on the Lady Morgana's door. Hermione hadn't wanted him to pay the "traitor" a visit, and she had told him as much this morning when he had woken after thinking about her for a long while before going to sleep, contemplating the idea of  _destiny_  and Kilgharra's disdain for the "witch." Hermione's eyes had been narrowed dangerously (not unlike they were when she jumped on Merlin for not warning them about the dragon or how she had fumed at Ron for accusing her cat of eating his rat) and her mouth had been a thin line of disapproval, but Harry hadn't listened. He had told her that Morgana is still a person, despite what the legends say, and that she needs friends and guidance just like anyone else.

Ron had eagerly volunteered to accompany Harry, that dreamy look reappearing in his eyes, but Harry had gently turned him down, saying that he wished to speak to her alone. Hermione had huffed at his stubbornness but, knowing how strong-willed he was (he had gotten that from his father, he had been told), she had let the matter drop and told Ron that they needed to find a library.

Ron had looked at Harry, his eyes desperately pleading for his friend to change his mind, but Harry hadn't budged. He wasn't sure why, but he really felt like this conversation with Morgana needed to be just the two of them. He didn't even really know  _why_  he was so adamant about speaking to her, but he just felt like it was the right thing to do.

Ron had asked why on earth they needed to find a bloody library, and Hermione had haughtily informed him that if they were going to be here for a while, they needed to learn more. Knowledge is power, she's reminded him cheerily. Ron had grumbled that it had nothing to do with power; Hermione was just having withdrawals from not having read a book in several days.

The two of them had set off to find Merlin, Arthur, or Gwen, hoping that one of them would be able to point them to the castle's library. Harry also had a hunch that Hermione hoped to catch Merlin alone in order to ask him if she could borrow his magic book and study it—in secret, of course.

So the three friends had parted ways, Hermione still miffed about Harry's insistence on spending some alone-time with one of the most dangerous and powerful sorceresses known to wizard-kind; Ron still annoyed that even in the great, ancient city of Camelot he was being forced to go book-hunting with Hermione; Harry nervous yet excited about finally getting to learn more about the troubled gaze and strong curiosity he had seen in Morgana's eyes.

A few moments after he had knocked, the door opened and Harry felt his breath catch at the sight of the Lady Morgana standing at the door, her hair falling in volumous locks around her shoulders, the light catching breathtakingly on the raven waves; light olive eyes widening in surprise beneath thick, long lashes; her mouth opening slightly in shock, two red lips parting to reveal perfectly straight ivory teeth. Romantic feelings for her or not, Harry would be lying if he said that she wasn't angelically beautiful.

She was wearing a deep purple dress today, with elbow-length sleeves that trailed down silky folds almost to the floor, the velvety dress clinging to her body perfectly and spreading out elegantly onto the stone floor. A silver necklace hung at her throat, the almost white metal gleaming marvelously against her pale, creamy skin. This was the closest she'd ever been to him; she was less than a foot away, standing just over the threshold of the doorway, and yet she didn't seem to be put off by their close proximity in the slightest. In fact, she actually took a small step forward, and Harry could see her neck move daintily as she swallowed, perhaps nervously, or maybe even excitedly.

"Harry," she said quickly, the surprise on her face quickly melting into delight. "What are you doing here?"

Suddenly feeling very foolish and more than awkward, Harry bowed slightly, his face red, and said, "My lady. I'm…er…sorry, I shouldn't have just showed up without warning. I can just…go…" He trailed off, his cheeks burning, and moved to back away before he humiliated himself further.

As he turned away, he felt her grasp his wrist and he snapped his head around, meeting her eyes. "No, please," she said, smiling widely, welcomingly. "I would love to talk to you."

* * *

Ron grumpily followed Hermione out of the main door of the castle, down the massive front steps, and toward the training field. All he really wanted was to find something else to eat, because the meager breakfast they'd had about an hour earlier was no longer sustaining him and his stomach, used to the ample proportions and unlimited supply of food thanks to the hard-working house elves at Hogwarts, was rumbling irritably. He literally ached for some of the school's scrumptious, luxurious food; he missed the four long tables piled high with food that simply appeared on their plates, he missed the enormous ceiling that mimicked the sky outside, and the candles that floated above their heads, casting light throughout the Great Hall.

He vowed that when—if—they got back to Hogwarts, he would personally buy Dobby the house elf two new pairs of socks for him to mix and match as much as his heart desired—in exchange for some extra goodies at dinner, that is.

Of course, Ron's homesickness didn't come just from wanting food, although having something other than lumpy porridge and crusty bread in his stomach would definitely be a plus. As much as he was enjoying Camelot, and how amazing it was to actually be in the place that the legend of King Arthur, the knights of the round table, the quest for the Holy Grail, and—even more notably—the most powerful wizard of all time, he found that he wanted to play Quidditch again, to see Dean and Seamus, to joke around with Fred and George. He wanted to sneak out of the dormitory and roam the castle under the invisibility cloak, make Malfoy mad any chance he got, and go for a visit at Hagrid's, pretending to eat his lumpy, teeth-breaking tarts and getting licked to death by Fang. He was just…homesick.

One thing he did  _not_  miss in the slightest was Hermione's never-ceasing library field trips, but it seemed that even when she was not at Hogwarts, even when she was in a completely different  _time_  for crying out loud, that she couldn't resist the call for more knowledge. He grumbled something under his breath about know-it-alls and Hermione shot him a death glare and he shut up reluctantly as they reached the training field to see Merlin helping Arthur with training.

She flounced toward the two of them, who stopped their swordplay (well, Arthur stopped his and Merlin stopped dodging and trying not to get hit by Arthur's sword) and waited for them to reach them, a disgruntled and very hungry Ron trailing gloomily behind sat stiffly in a chair while Morgana sat opposite him on her bed. She was watching him, her eyes curious, her smile genuine. "So what do I owe this pleasure?" she asked.

* * *

Harry chuckled. "I don't know, really. Just sort of an impulse, I guess."

Morgana smiled. "Well, I'm certainly glad I have a chance to talk to you. I've been looking for an opportunity since you arrived."

Harry looked slightly surprised. "Really?" he asked.

She blushed. "You interest me, I suppose. I just felt this sort of…" she trailed off, her eyes becoming distant for a moment.

Harry raised his eyebrows, letting his guard down a bit because of her friendliness—he could tell it was not an act, she was truly pleased to see him. He still couldn't see how such a sweet person could ever turn into the nightmare the wizarding  _and_ Muggle world alike knew as the dreaded sorceress Morgan Le Fay. "What?" he asked gently, finding that he really  _did_ want her to open up to him, wanted to know what was going on behind those gray eyes.

"You'll think I'm mad," she replied to his question, half-joking.

He grinned. "Doubt it," he responded. "You're no crazier than I am, I'm sure."

She laughed a pure, charming laugh. "Well, I guess you could say, a kind of  _connection_  between us. I don't know why, but you just intrigue me." She paused. "Not that you're  _not_ interesting…" she trailed off, her backpedaling making her think of her handmaiden, Guinevere, who often did that sort of thing.

Harry chuckled as well. "Well, I'm here now; what do you want to know?"

She thought for a moment. "I'm not sure, really. I just want to know where this connection came from; I've never felt anything like it. So I guess…can you just tell me about you?"

Harry smiled, knowing he would have to improvise with most of his back story, as he couldn't exactly tell Morgana that he was a wizard from a magic school in the future whose mortal foe had followed him here, aided by Merlin's—who was also a sorcerer—biggest enemy, and that the two of them were plotting some insidious evil.

So instead he said, "Well, I grew up in a small village on the outskirts of Camelot." His eyes clouded over, having decided to stick as close to the truth as possible. "My parents died when I was a year old."

Morgana looked at him compassionately, leaning forward to place a comforting hand on his thin shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, her eyes sad as she contemplated her own losses in life. She hesitated only briefly before asking, "How did they die?"

Harry let out a breath of air, looking defeated, sad, and young. Morgana could tell by the pain in his eyes that there was so much more to his story, so much laying on his heart that he probably didn't have the will or strength to talk about, especially to a total stranger. She suddenly looked embarrassed and guilty, removing her hand from his shoulder and averting her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have asked. If it's too painful, please—you don't have to talk about it."

Harry shook his head. "It's okay," he said, and when she looked at him doubtfully, he smiled reassuringly, although the smile was a bit forced. "Really." Taking a deep breath, he replied, "I never really knew them; I don't exactly remember much of them at all." All he had were the stories he'd heard, the pictures he'd seen, the memories shared with him. "They were good parents, though."

Morgana smiled, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. "I'm sure they were."

Harry nodded slowly. "A dark sorcerer came to our village," he said, his voice threatening to break. He was irritated at himself—you would think that after six years of knowing the truth of how Lily and James Potter really died and having to square with that fact time and time again would make it easier to talk about. But it didn't, especially as now, after what had happened to Sirius last year, any mention of his father made him think of his godfather, James's best friend, which opened yet another gaping hole in his heart. He knew his friends were worried about him since he refused to speak about Sirius, but he just couldn't muster up the strength. Pushing these agonizing thoughts out of his suddenly weary mind, Harry continued. "He killed them. They were murdered."

Morgana gasped, her eyes big and sad. "How terrible," she murmured.

Harry didn't acknowledge her accurate assessment of the situation, but forced himself to go on, cursing himself for getting so emotional, especially at a time like this. "My dad died first," he said. "The sorcerer came to the door and blasted it down. Dad yelled for my mum to grab me and run. The wizard killed my father with one spell, and went into my room, where my mother shielded me, even though the sorcerer told her he would let her live if she stepped aside. For some reason, he really wanted to kill me." Harry, of course, couldn't tell Morgana about the prophecy that Voldemort had been trying to avoid by killing the one destined to kill him.  _Destiny_. Huh. There it was again. Harry thought derisively that the idea of destiny seemed to be pretty popular amongst magical folks. Between him and Merlin, they had enough destiny to fill up an entire ocean.

"She didn't step aside, did she?" Morgana asked in a hoarse whisper, her words appalled and sympathetic at Harry's past.

Harry was ashamed at the tears that sprung into his eyes when he shook his head. "No. So the sorcerer killed her. Somehow…somehow I was saved. I dunno how, but I wish I knew." He did know, all too well, that it was his mother's love and sacrifice that had kept him alive, with only the scar from the curse as a souvenir. He blinked rapidly. "So I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle and cousin not too far away," he went on.

Morgana smiled, "That's nice."

Harry snorted ruefully. "I wish—they were—well, are—complete pigs. They hated me. I had to sleep in a tiny closet-like room under the stairs, never got enough food, and was constantly getting beat up by Dudley and his stupid friends." He laughed bitterly. "I didn't exactly have the best childhood."

The king's ward stared at him sympathetically. "That's terrible!" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "And I thought  _Uther_ could be a poor guardian at times!" She frowned. "How did you get away from them?"

Harry thought fast, trying to think up a way to answer as truthfully as possible without telling the lady that he had been accepted into the finest school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the world, with the greatest wizard in history (save Merlin, of course, but that went without saying in the wizarding world), Albus Dumbledore, as the headmaster. Morgana seemed to take his hesitation as the question having taken an emotional toll on him and she quickly revised, "Of course, if you don't want to…"

Harry actually thought about telling her that the memory was too painful so that he wouldn't have to lie anymore, but he could see that she was genuinely interested in what he had to say, and that despite her kind words, she really wanted him to continue. He grinned, easing the mounting tension a bit. "Nah, it's fine," he said. "I ended up running away when I was eleven, and I met Ron and we became best friends."

Morgana nodded, "The ginger-haired fellow. He's a bit odd," she admitted and Harry laughed out loud.

"Oh you have NO idea," he chuckled, but then continued more seriously, "but he's a great guy, and definitely the best friend a guy could have—loyal, true, funny, protective, and—" he snickered, "—hungry."

Morgana's perfectly even eyebrows knit together. "Hungry?"

Harry chortled. "Just ask Prince Arthur—he saw Ron eat when we ate with him, he'll back me up."

Morgana smiled. "I see."

"Anyway," said Harry, hoping that the ward was satisfied with all the information he'd divulged, "enough about me. What about you?"

Morgana started, almost as if surprised by the question. "Me?" she asked.

Harry laughed. "Why not? I know you're the king's ward, like royalty, and that you don't have to tell me anything, but I was hoping you'd let me know a little about you."

"Well," she said, "there's not much to tell." Harry raised an eyebrow, knowing that there had to be more to her past, especially since she was Morgan Le Fay—or a radically different variation of her, as far as Harry was concerned. "My father was a knight of Camelot, named Gorlois. He was a great man." She paused, as if to gather her thoughts. "I never knew my mother. When I was ten years old, Uther sent my father into a dangerous battle, promising him reinforcements which he never sent. My father died that day."

Harry wanted to reach out and pat her arm, to comfort her and let her know she wasn't alone, but he wasn't sure if he should—or could—do that. After all, she  _was_  the king's ward, like his own daughter. Instead of physical comfort, he did the next best thing and said, "I'm sorry."

She smiled through brimming tears. "It's okay; really. My father died bravely. Uther should not have betrayed him like that, but there is nothing I can do about it now." For the first time, Harry heard a bit of bitterness in her sweet voice, making him wonder if her father's death was something that would supposedly twist her soul into that of an evil, dark sorceress'. He still didn't believe she was going to turn out as bad as everyone seemed to think—destiny wasn't always accurate; it just couldn't be. He hoped for Morgana's sake that it wouldn't be this time. "I loved my father," she went on, "but Uther took me in, promising my father that he would care for me as if I were his own." Her voice softened slightly. "And he has, and I suppose for that, I can be grateful."

"And?"

Morgana giggled. "Not much more—I've spent the rest of my time as Uther's ward learning how to fight, beating Arthur a few times; wearing fancy dresses and expensive tiaras, and basically playing the part of a spoiled princess, but always trying to help anyone in need, especially those with magic that Uther is so cruel to."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You don't agree with King Uther's ban on magic?"

She blushed. "I'm sorry; I know that your parents were killed by a sorcerer. Of course you would agree with him. I wouldn't blame you."

Harry shook his head slowly. "No, actually, I'm not sure I  _do_ agree with him." There was a pause. "And you?"

"No, I don't," Morgana said with great conviction. "I have seen people that have done no harm burned and beheaded because of Uther's blind rage. I have witnessed men, women, and children being ruthlessly hunted and cut down because of the magic they have no control over. I have watched families be ripped apart, have seen the grief of mother's wailing over the bodies of their sons and daughters; husbands grieving for their wives and wives for their husbands. I have seen children whose parents have been torn from them by Uther's unjust laws, leaving them orphans, homeless and helpless. I have no doubt that some who have magic are evil, but certainly not  _all._  Uther has  _no_ right to treat his people with such callousness. He is blind when it comes to magic, deaf when it comes to pleas of innocence." Her chest heaved up and down as emotion claimed her.

There was a tight, slightly awkward silence, after which Harry thought it might be appropriate to lighten up the mood. "Can you tell me how you really feel?" he asked, and the two of them burst into peals of laughter, relieved that the depressing atmosphere had fled.

After a few moments of companionable silence, the two of them strangely comfortable in each other's presence, Harry brought up the topic he knew they were  _both_ curious about. "Does your view on magic have anything to do with these dreams you've been having?"

Her eyes snapped to his and her breath caught in her throat, but only for a moment. "What are you saying?" she asked, her heart beating faster, wondering if this mysterious young man with a tragic past and such wonderful green eyes was finally going to confirm the suspicions that had been close to driving her mad for the past few months.

Harry didn't answer for a moment, but eventually said, "I don't know…it's just…it seems kind of odd, doesn't it? That you and I would have a dream that rendered us unconscious at roughly the same time?"

She nodded, seeing in those incredible green depths that he, too, believed it to be magic. Perhaps he even feared that he himself had magical abilities—if only she knew the truth. "What did you dream about?" she asked.

Harry frowned. "A man and a woman and a snake in a cave, talking about something." He feigned confusion, not wanting to let on too much, on the slim chance that Hermione and Kilgharra were right and Morgana couldn't be trusted, although he was very much doubting that at the moment. "What about, though, I really don't recall. You?"

He had already heard it from Merlin, and knew that it would be difficult to talk about. It didn't surprise him when she looked down, tears welling up in her eyes once again, and said, "I don't remember."

Harry knew it was a lie, but he didn't want to press her any further. Figuring he had found out all that he could for now, and feeling the bond between them grow stronger with the stories and histories shared between them, Harry felt oddly light and happy as he stood to leave.

"It has been a pleasure talking to you, Lady Morgana," Harry smiled and Morgana stood up, stepping close to him.

"You're not leaving?"

"I must, at least for now—Ron and Hermione have gone to interrogate Merlin about where the library is and Hermione wants me to catch up with her as soon as possible—she loves books."

At the mention of Merlin's name, Morgana tensed slightly. "Merlin? Is he…okay?" The question seemed casual, but Harry knew that a true concern for the warlock was lying in wait just beneath the surface of her nonchalant query.

Smiling reassuringly, Harry nodded. "He's fine—helping Arthur train right about now, if I'm remembering correctly."

"It was good speaking to you, too, Harry Potter," Morgana said, smiling warmly at her new friend. "Perhaps we can talk again soon?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like that," he said, and he realized that he would.

As he turned to walk out, Morgana blurted out one last question that had been weighing on her mind. "Did it hurt when the sorcerer gave you that scar? You know, before you escaped the other day from your village?"

Harry, slightly startled by the question, nodded. "A bit," he said lamely.

Stepping closer to him, Morgana hesitantly took one of his hands in hers. When their bare skin touched, Morgana felt something like a bolt of electricity course from fingertip to fingertip. "I'm sorry that happened to you," she said softly, leaning forward and giving Harry a light kiss on the lips on an impulse.

His face went red and she backed away, ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's fine," he reassured her, feeling strangely giddy inside. Why he felt so light, he didn't know—after all, he had no romantic feelings for her. Or did he? His brain was a bit befuzzled as he grinned somewhat goofily and added, almost as an afterthought, "It's more than fine."

She blushed and saw him out the door, the feel of his lips on hers still lingering around her mouth.


	19. Magic Lessons

"Hermione. Ronald." Arthur nodded at the two of them in turn, Merlin standing behind him, panting from the excursion of training with the prince. Why his royal highness couldn't train using one of his knights, Merlin didn't know, but at least the warlock was getting a better at blocking Arthur's attacks—if only a little. He sent a grateful smile at his two new friends, thankful for the interruption that meant he could catch his breath.

Hermione greeted the prince and his servant, Ron standing rather morosely beside her. "Hi," she said cheerily. "Sorry to interrupt your fight."

Arthur laughed loudly. "Don't worry about it. Besides, with  _Mer_ lin here as an opponent, it can't  _really_  be considered much of a fight."

Merlin made a face. "It's not my fault you make yourself feel better about your own fighting skills by dueling with  _me_  instead of your knights who have  _trained_  for this kind of thing since birth," he smirked. "If I'm so bad at it, why don't you see if Sir Leon or one of the others wants to give you some real competition?"

Arthur snorted. "If only. But if I don't train with you at all, how are you ever going to get good enough to defend yourself in a real ambush or battle?" Merlin, Ron, and Hermione exchanged amused glances because they knew Merlin was more than capable of defending himself as long as no one witnessed him using his magic—but still, it was a nice thought that the supposedly indifferent prince wanted to make sure that Merlin stayed out of danger.

Arthur went on, his voice smug. "And as much as I hate to admit it,  _Mer_ lin, you are getting a bit better."

Merlin grinned and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't look so pleased; you're still the  _worst_ swordsman I've ever had the misfortune to fight."

Hermione frowned, thinking that her speech to the prince about treating Merlin better hadn't had the effect that she'd first assumed. When she saw Merlin smile even wider at the prince's insult and chipperly counter, "And _you're_  still the biggest-headed prat I've ever met," however, she realized that this was light-hearted banter. She saw through the teasing words and knew that this was actually a way of showing friendship—the kind of brotherly exchange of insults that boys tended to do instead of simply talking about how they really feel. She sighed.  _Boys will be boys, no matter the time period._  She found herself smiling at the warm hint of affection in Arthur's eyes even as he whacked his servant none-too-gently on the back of the head.

"Ow," Merlin whined.

Ignoring his servant's complaint, Arthur turned his attention to Hermione and Ron. "So, what brings you to the training ground?" He raised a joking eyebrow at Ron, who was as thin and lanky as he was tall and asked, "Come to try your hand against me or one of my knights?"

Ron scowled, eyeing the deadly blade in the prince's hand. Before the wizard could respond, Hermione jumped right in.

"I was wondering if there is a library in Camelot that we could visit," she said in an excited rush. Ron found himself faintly amused—Hermione really did find pleasure in some of the oddest things. Give her a library, a pile of homework, and a couple of house elves to liberate and she would literally be in heaven.

Arthur blinked. "A library? Why on  _earth_  would you want to spend your time in a library?"

Ron chuckled, "I've always wondered that, too."

Hermione glared at him. "We didn't have much of a library back home," she lied easily, causing Ron's and Merlin's eyebrows to rise slowly in unison as they subtly appreciated her quick thinking. For such a stickler for rules, Hermione Granger could be quite a spectacular liar (unless, of course, she was trying to tell a fib to a teacher; then she would freeze up and start making terrified squeaks). "I love to read, and I assume a great, wealthy, and prosperous kingdom like Camelot would have a wonderful library."

Arthur nodded, looking slightly perplexed as if he couldn't quite figure out why anyone would prefer wasting their day rifling through scrolls and books over being outside and doing something active. He personally hated it when he had to sift through reports for his father. "If that's what you want, I guess I can spare Merlin for a little while so he can take you there and let Geoffrey know that you have my express permission to view any document you'd like."

"Thank you so much, Sire," the girl enthused, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of getting to visit an ancient library—and one of Camelot, nonetheless! She couldn't wait to delve into the rich history stored within the shelves. She wondered vaguely if she could use a book that she had read in the past as a source for her History of Magic essay.

Arthur looked at Merlin. "I expect you back within half an hour for more training."

Merlin heaved a good-natured groan but had a smile on his face as he went to lead the other two wizards to the library.

* * *

The four of them met in the Hogwarts students' chambers right after Merlin left Arthur for the night. The prince had given his servant a stern reminder that he was  _not_  to be tramping around the castle after hours, or so help him, the prince would throw Merlin into the stocks himself. Merlin was more concerned with causing Arthur any more worry after what had happened the night before than getting pelted with more rotten food (although he didn't exactly relish the prospect of another visit to the stocks so soon, either). He decided to actually obey Arthur this time, knowing that the prince wouldn't have threatened him if he wasn't so concerned about his safety, so he'd taken his blanket and told Gaius he was staying with Harry, Ron, and Hermione for the night, planning to camp out on the floor after they finished teaching each other some about the differences in their respective magic.

"Did you have fun at the library?" Merlin asked, grinning at the exasperated sigh Ron let out at the mention of the place.

"Oh yes!" Hermione all but squealed. "There is so much knowledge, so much to read and learn from. Ron even enjoyed himself, didn't you, Ronald?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, it was better than getting run through with sword." He paused. "I think."

Merlin and Harry laughed while Hermione's lip twitched in concealed amusement, causing her attempt to glare at her friend in disapproval to seem rather feeble. She turned to Harry. "How was your visit with Morgana, Harry?"

For some reason, Harry's cheeks took up a light pink tint as he blushed. "Er…okay, I guess," he muttered. He got up and retrieved their wands from the hiding place, not wanting to get into the details. "We just talked about some stuff, and then I left."

Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said sarcastically, "because that tells us  _so_  much."

Harry's face went a little redder. "Let's just get on with it, then."

Merlin's eyes darted between the two of them, wondering what the tension was about. He had a strange feeling that Hermione really didn't care for Morgana, although he couldn't fathom why. The king's ward had such a kind heart and was constantly trying to help anyone and everyone that she could. Pushing his confusion aside, Merlin took his blanket and unwrapped the item he'd concealed within—his magic book.

When Hermione saw the book, her eyes went wider than Merlin had ever seen them as she held out a hand hesitantly—almost  _reverently_ —and touched the cover. She knew that she wouldn't be able to read much from the book, since her knowledge of ancient scripts was limited to what little she had learned in Ancient Runes. Merlin would more than likely have to teach them, and act as an interpreter between them and the beautiful volume of spells.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Harry and even Ron nodded their agreement.

Merlin smiled. "Gaius gave it to me…I really have to keep it hidden though. If the king or Arthur found it in my room, they'd have me killed."

Hermione frowned. "You don't really think Arthur would kill you if he found out about your magic?" she asked.

Merlin shrugged. "He's the prince. It's his duty to turn sorcerers into his father, and Uther always passes the same judgment—death. I wouldn't be angry if Arthur turned me in; that's just his duty."

Harry shook his head. "You don't believe that," he stated simply.

Ron joined the conversation. "Yeah—Arthur may be a bit of a big-headed prat, but even  _I_ can see that he cares about you. I don't think he'd do that to you."

"Besides," Hermione added briskly, "in the legends, Arthur knows you have magic and even encourages it."

Merlin shrugged. "I'm not just some figure from your storybooks," he reminded his friends gently.

"Fair enough," Harry said, sensing the conversation was getting to be a bit overwhelming for them all and graciously changing the subject. "So…let's do this."

"Right," Merlin said, a grin taking over his features. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, the other three saw that they had changed from their normal blue to a miraculous shade of gold. " _Ni fydd yn cael ei glywed sain,_ " he whispered and the air seemed to shimmer for a moment. He dropped his hand as he had stretched it out before him and turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione who were staring at him in awe. This was the first time they had witnessed the greatest sorcerer they had ever heard of perform any big magic and they couldn't help but feel a slight shiver go up and down their spines as they simultaneously realized just what kind of power the goofy kid in front of them possessed.

Hermione was the first to speak. "What did you do?"

Merlin grinned. "I enchanted the room so that anyone walking by won't hear anything. If you want to add your own spells to mine, though, you can—we'll be even safer then."

Hermione nodded and pointed her wand confidently at the door. " _Muffliato_ ," she whispered. She smiled. "Now anyone who comes near will hear an unidentifiable buzzing, like that of a distracting bug flying around, in their ears."

Merlin grinned. "Nice," he said, grinning. "I'll need to remember that one."

Hermione blushed.

"So where do you want to start?" Harry asked.

"I think we should learn some basic defensive spells from each other," Hermione answered promptly. "Before we knew that Nimueh and Voldemort were working together, we wanted to teach each other magic just because. But now that we know they are planning something, we need to be able to know at  _least_ some rudimentary spells that can help defend us against both kinds of magic."

Merlin nodded. "That sounds great." He paced across the room and back a few times, his hands behind his back, thinking. "There's one I use a lot," he said after a moment, "and even though it's pretty simple it works pretty well." He nodded at the three of them. "One of you send a spell my way."

After a moment of hesitation, Ron stepped forward with his wand clenched tightly in his fist. "Ready?" he asked, and Merlin just gave an excited grin. Ron thought for a moment, then yelled, " _Immobulus!_ "

Just a fraction of a second after Ron had cast the spell, Merlin put out his own. " _Darian i mi_ ," he countered, and the bolt of light that had shot out of the tip of Ron's wand ratcheted off of an invisible shield conjured by Merlin's outstretched hand and golden eyes now turning back to blue. Unfortunately, when the spell bounced off of the shield, it flew straight back at Ron, who took it full force. He fell back, unable to move in the slightest. Merlin winced. "Oops," he said, "I guess I should have warned you about that. Is he okay?"

Hermione giggled. "He's fine. The Immobulus charm merely renders the recipient, well, immobile." She pointed her wand at her stricken friend and muttered the counter-curse. " _Enervate_." Ron moaned and pushed himself up, grumbling about stupid backfiring spells and how he would've been better off sword-fighting Arthur.

"You guys want to try?" Merlin asked cheerily. "I'll try and use your charm on you, and you use my spell to defend yourselves."

Harry looked a bit doubtful. "Do you really think it'll work with our wands?" he asked.

Merlin shrugged. "We won't know unless we try it, will we?"

Harry chuckled. "Guess not."

"Alright, ready?" Almost at the same time, the magic-wielders uttered their respective spells.

" _Immobulus,_ " said Merlin, his hand out and eyes flickering to gold.

" _Darian i mi!_ " Harry, Ron, and Hermione cried together as they attempted to put up the shields. They managed to do  _something_  to impede Merlin's spell, but instead of completely shielding them from it, their shields only took the brunt force from the spell and slowed it down considerably. As a result, all three of them had to be revived by Merlin and a spell he ruffled through the pages of the spell book to find and use.

" _Symud eto_ ," he said, and they all rose back to their aching feet.

And so it continued. The trio would show Merlin an offensive spell, and Merlin would teach them a defensive one to counteract it, and vice versa. They would practice until they had the spells down very well before moving onto new ones. This carried on until it was so late that the four of them could barely keep their eyes opened and they crashed happily into bed, after removing the protective charms and enchantments from the room and hiding the wands again.

As they were starting to fall asleep, Merlin said, "Oh, I forgot to mention—Arthur's planning a hunting trip tomorrow in the Darkling Woods. Since I'm his servant, I have to go, but he said if any of you were interested, you have the choice if you want to join us or stay here."

Hermione made a distasteful noise. "No thank you," she said curtly. "I have  _no_ interest in watching people kill poor animals just because they can. It's stupid and barbaric."

Merlin laughed. "I agree," he said. "I'm not a big fan of hunting myself, especially since I'm so clumsy and always seem to scare the game away. And then Arthur yells at me, which scares any game away that I hadn't already, which makes him even more mad." He paused. "There's just no pleasing him sometimes."

Ron yawned. "Count me out then," he said. "I can be a bit of a klutz at times and I have no desire to have Prince Perfect snap at me—I get that enough from Mum and Dad."

"Harry?" Merlin questioned.

Harry sighed. "I think I'll pass. I'm not big on killing, either, and truth be told, I've never ridden a horse. I'd be an embarrassment."

"If you're sure."

"Unless you  _want_  us to come with you," Harry quickly added, wondering if Merlin had been hoping that he wouldn't have to go alone.

Merlin's voice was totally sincere when he answered. "It's perfectly fine. I don't blame you at all. Plus, maybe you can do some more research or something while I'm gone; I know you really enjoyed the library."

Ron moaned dramatically. "Is it too late to change my mind?" he grumped sarcastically. "If Hermione wants to read she can, but Harry and I will do something fun, won't we, Harry?"

Harry grunted sleepily. "Sure, Ron," he agreed blearily. "If it'll make you shut up."

Merlin was feeling very happy and positive as he fell asleep, no idea that the hunt he was going to go on was going to be a little more than he'd bargained for.


	20. The Hunt

Morgana watched from her window as the hunting party left the next morning, her eyes clouded over with worry. She watched as Arthur, flanked by a few knights and followed by Merlin, galloped out of the city and toward the Darkling Woods. She could feel a tightness in her chest as she watched them leave, something telling her that this was all going to end up very badly.

An image of her nightmare, of Merlin writhing in agony, flashed unbidden in her mind's eye and she winced, blinking back tears. Surely it was just a dream. Nothing terrible was going to happen to Merlin on the trip—she was getting paranoid.

The door to her room opened and she spun to find Gwen standing there, smiling at her, concern flickering in her kind, dark eyes. "Is everything alright, My Lady?" the handmaiden asked as she watched her mistress carefully. "You seem worried."

Morgana sighed. "What if you had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to someone you care about, Gwen?"

Gwen looked startled and her worry seemed to double. "Arthur?"

Morgana shook her head. "No. And besides, it's just a…hypothetical question."

Gwen nodded but Morgana could clearly see the disbelief in her eyes, even if she didn't dare speak it aloud. Morgana knew that her servant had similar fears about the accuracy of Morgana's dreams, but her loyal friend never spoke of them or questioned Morgana's increasingly flimsy excuses.

Morgana expanded her question. "What if it was just a feeling, that you had no idea when or where something bad was going to occur but you just… _felt_  like it was going to be soon? And what if that person's not someone most people would worry about? Do you just sit and hope you're being paranoid? Do you go to someone? Who to go to?" She was not so much asking for Gwen's advice now, but trying to sort through her own jumbled emotions.

There was no logical reason for her to believe Merlin was in danger but her panic was growing every second. Along with it was a rising knowledge that even if she did have substantial evidence to support her claim, that anyone she told would either tell her that the servant is with Arthur and a bunch of knights, so he'll be fine or that he's just a servant and can be replaced. Frustrated, she turned back to the window, gazing out at the hunting party that was almost to the edge of the forest.

Gwen came up behind her and put a comforting hand on her arm. "I know Uther wouldn't understand if you thought something were wrong," the girl said slowly, "but you have friends here that are willing to risk anything for any _one_." She squeezed Morgana's arm lightly.

Morgana nodded. "Thank you, Gwen." Feeling overwhelmed, she tried to keep her voice light as she said, "That will be all for today. You can have the rest of the day off."

"Yes, My Lady," Gwen said and Morgana could sense the girl's worried gaze resting on her for a few more moments before the servant's footsteps retreated out of the room.

* * *

Merlin let out a small yelp as he misjudged the distance between himself and a low-hanging branch and the offending limb smacked him on the shoulder. He could sense that the knights who had accompanied them were shooting him annoyed looks. Arthur, a few feet away on his own horse, hissed, "No wonder we don't catch anything,  _Mer_ lin—you just don't know how to be quiet, do you?" Even Merlin's horse seemed put off by its rider's clumsiness and let out an irritated snort, stamping his right hoof on the packed soil of the forest floor.

Merlin scowled, although he had to admit that he was glad they had decided to use the horses on this hunt—he always made a lot more noise when they went on foot, seeing as every blasted root in the kingdom was out to get him and cause him to trip flat on his face. Of course, no one ever asked if he was okay when he fell; instead he would receive responses similar to the one he had just gotten. Sighing, he urged his horse forward, glumly reminding himself that it was only fifteen minutes into the hunt.

There was a rustling noise in the brush. Merlin jerked his head up, glancing around. Arthur shot him a warning look that clearly meant  _don't scare this off if you value your life._  A flash of white appeared between two trees. Everyone was quiet as they waited to see what this particular animal was.

It stepped out into their path, a snow-white stag with sapphire eyes, antlers and hooves ivory. The whole group seemed to suck in their breath—never had a creature this beautiful been seen in these woods. Of course, Merlin thought ruefully, the fact that it was one of a kind, beautiful, and mysterious meant that Arthur was going to kill it so he could parade its head around Camelot.

In that moment the stag was before them, its blue eyes locked with Merlin's, who got a niggling feeling that something wasn't quite right in the pit of his stomach. Before any of the knights or Arthur could react, the deer shot off, a blur of white ghosting deeper into the forest. Arthur motioned for the rest of the hunting party to stay where they were, knowing that a whole herd of them chasing the stag through the trees would cause the beast to be frightened off before one of them could kill it. Besides, he more than likely wanted to claim all the glory for himself, the prat, Merlin figured.

Still, he didn't like the idea of Arthur going off alone after that deer. There was just something odd about the situation…

His worries melted away fairly quickly, however, because ten minutes after he slipped into the forest after the deer, he returned, empty handed and grumpy, shaking his head. Merlin found it kind of odd that Arthur had given up on the chase so quickly, but the prince was in no mood to talk so the warlock didn't press the matter.

For the rest of the hunt, it seemed like Arthur was in one a distant, brooding mindset, meaning he would only talk when he  _wanted_ to talk. Apparently he wasn't in the mood for conversing at all, for as the day wore on, he only spoken when asked something directly and even then it seemed like his mind was somewhere else. Merlin couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on, but no one else seemed to notice. Besides, the prince did go into these sulky moods once in a while—and losing such a magnificent prize like the white deer was definitely something worth brooding about, at least in Arthur's mind.

It was nearly dinnertime when they returned to the city with several deer (brown, not white) and a few pheasants in tow, and Arthur didn't say anything upon arriving in Camelot other than to dismiss his knights and tell Merlin to meet him in his chambers as soon as he had taken care of the horses.

Merlin had nodded, wondering what Arthur wanted to speak to him about and hoping it might explain the prince's far-off silence all day.

* * *

Morgana had been wrestling with her emotions all day, trying to decide what she should do, if anything. Deciding that there wasn't much that she  _could_  do until she knew something was truly the matter, and knowing that it would seem very suspicious if anyone found out that she was so worked up over a dream (about a  _servant_ , nonetheless), she had spent her time in her room, keeping to herself. She had glanced out of the window every so often and was utterly relieved when she saw the hunting party cantering back into the city. She did a quick head count and noted that everyone was there, safe and sound.

She chuckled at her foolishness, at the same time wondering why the feeling that something bad was coming hadn't abated even though she'd seen for herself that Merlin was fine. She watched as Arthur dismounted, saying something to the servant and then walking out of her line of sight. Merlin stood there for a moment, holding the reins of both his and Arthur's exhausted horses, before heading off in the direction of the stables. He'd only taken a couple of steps when he waved at someone. A few seconds later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked up to him, smiling and petting the horses and chatting with him.

She watched Harry with a slight tingle in her heart, feeling both brave and foolish for kissing him the day before. She wasn't sure what had come over her. He had opened up to her, telling her about a terrible past, listening to her story and sympathizing with her. He was kind and gentle, but mysterious, and she still felt a strong connection whenever she was near him. She hadn't figured him out—perhaps  _that_ was why she was so taken by him.

Whatever the reason, she knew she had been out of line. He was a commoner, and a foreigner as well. Uther would be furious if he found out about what had happened between the two of them yesterday, no matter how innocent the exchange was. She knew she should back off and stay away from him, for her safety as much as for his. The thought saddened her, though. She really did like him; he was a very  _likeable_ person.

She smiled slightly as she watched Merlin and the other three walk off toward the stables, chatting away, the strange feeling never leaving her—in fact, if anything, it was growing stronger.

* * *

Merlin's stomach rumbled as he made his way to Arthur's chambers. The prince had instructed him to come  _straight_  up after taking care of the horses, meaning that he hadn't had time to eat dinner. He had seen his three fellow wizards almost immediately upon returning and they had accompanied him to the stables while he washed down, groomed, and fed the horses.

Hermione had spent a lot of the day studying texts in the library, while Ron and Harry had hung out in the marketplace, chatting with people, perusing the stalls, and simply watching. Merlin had mentioned the episode with the strange deer and Arthur's even stranger mood after losing it, but none of them seemed to think anything of it. Hermione did smile at the fact that the stag got away and Harry and Ron looked pretty glad, too.

Merlin had told them that he was going to see Arthur and that he didn't know when he'd be back, so he asked them if they would let Gaius know he wouldn't be there for dinner but not to worry because he was with Arthur.

Now as he burst into Arthur's chambers, he almost wished he had gone and eaten a quick dinner with Gaius and told Arthur that the horses had taken longer than usual. Arthur looked up when Merlin barged in, not even commenting on the lack of knocking on Merlin's part. Instead, he cut right to the chase. "Ah, Merlin. Good." He still had an odd gleam in his eye, but it was getting dark in the room as dusk encroached, so Merlin thought he was imagining things. Or maybe Arthur was still pouting because of his earlier loss. "I couldn't say anything earlier because of the guards, but it was by no accident that I returned from chasing that deer so quickly."

Instantly interested, Merlin asked, "Does this have anything to do with why you've been so…out of it…today?"

Arthur just stared at him blankly before continuing as if his servant hadn't spoken. "When I was chasing it, I noticed a cave that I've not seen before. There's something eerie about it, and I heard voices from inside."

Merlin's heart picked up and he leaned in closer. "Voices?"

Arthur frowned. "Yes, Merlin,  _voices_. They were low and strange and I couldn't understand what they were saying—but it sounded like magic."

"Magic?" Merlin wondered if Arthur had somehow stumbled upon the lair of Nimueh and Voldemort. But that didn't make any sense. If Arthur had been that close to them, they certainly would have known it, and why wouldn't they have taken him or worse? After all, Nimueh wished for Arthur's death almost as much as she did Merlin's. Perhaps he had unintentionally discovered the hideout of some Druids.

"I didn't want to let the guards know because my father would order whoever was in that cave to be arrested and killed. I want to check it out first, and if these people aren't a threat, I'll warn them to get away from Camelot. If they are, I'll alert the guards and father can do with the sorcerers what he deems best."

Merlin nodded slowly, thinking that something about Arthur's story didn't seem quite right. Then, having fully comprehended everything Arthur had said, he stammered, "W-wait. You're not planning on 'checking it out' tonight, are you?"

Arthur shrugged. "Why not?"

"And you're dragging  _me_  along?"

Arthur nodded, not comprehending why Merlin was being so difficult. "What's your point, Merlin?"

Gaping, Merlin continued his questioning. "In the middle of the night?"

Again, Arthur nodded. "Will you get to the point, Merlin, please?" the prince snapped. "We have to prepare."

"You yelled at me just last night for walking around the  _castle_  at night because you think it's dangerous. Now you're wanting me to take a stroll through a dark, dangerous forest full of big, flesh-eating monsters at night? Don't you think that might be a  _bit_ more dangerous?"

Arthur blinked, looking confused. "You'll be with  _me_ , Merlin. I think I'm perfectly capable of protecting you."

Merlin snorted softly, thinking about all of the times that  _he_  had protected the prince. Half the time Arthur could barely keep himself out of danger and Merlin would have to bail him out—not that Arthur ever realized it.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin said, "I guess it would be pointless to try and tell you that I don't think this is a good idea?"

* * *

Merlin shivered as he and Arthur crept through the dark woods, the chilly night air nipping at their exposed skin. Arthur was wielding a torch and although his sword was with him, it was sheathed. Even though he had his magic, Merlin would still feel better if Arthur was resting even one finger on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend them in necessary. For someone who had been so worried about Merlin's safety yesterday, he sure was being pretty careless with his servant's life today. With that thought, the foreboding atmosphere seemed to triple, leaving Merlin with a very distinct feeling that something bad was going to happen. "Arthur," he hissed. The prince didn't answer. " _Arthur._ "

"What?" Arthur shot back, not nearly as quiet as caution would dictate.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?"

Instead of answering, Arthur stopped, Merlin walking forward a few steps until he was a foot or so in front of the prince before halting as well, swallowing back his fear.

Sure enough, a cave loomed over them, the entrance cast in black shadows and the rock glowing eerily in what little moonlight filtered through the canopy of trees above them. Like Arthur had said, there was definitely a feel of magic, of power, here. Merlin, who knew more about such things than his master, instantly recognized the aura of enchantment around the cave as something evil and sinister. "Arthur?" he said to the man standing just behind him, his voice shaking in a whispered warble as his eyes scanned the area in front of him for any sign of potential danger. Unfortunately, it wasn't in front of him that he needed to be watching.

He felt a hand clamp over his mouth and he bit back a yell as his right arm was viciously yanked behind him. He stood perfectly still, wondering if someone had already grabbed Arthur and not willing to do anything to put the prince's life in danger. He needed to gain more knowledge about the situation before he reacted, especially with his magic.

When whoever held him sensed that their captive wasn't going to make a move just yet, the hand slid from his mouth. Merlin could hear someone breathing heavily in his ear, their warm breath on his neck. He was caught off guard, moments later, when a rag was stuffed into his mouth by the hand that had just released him. A boot hit the back of his knees and he fell forward into a kneeling position, his arm momentarily free from his captor's grip.

Before the servant could even think about running for it, a brutal kick to his back sent him flat on his face, lying face-down in the rich earth of the Darkling Woods. He grunted from the pain, the air knocked out of him, but before he could recover, his attacker was upon him again, wrenching the boy's arms behind his back and tying them with thick rope, then moving on to his feet, making sure his ankles were lashed tightly together. When his assailant had secured Merlin, he left the boy laying there, the attacker's footsteps indicating that he stood up and walked forward a few steps.

Merlin lay on the ground, terrified, not willing to do any magic yet until he knew where Arthur was and had a better understanding of their situation. He attempted to struggle but whoever had tied the ropes had known what they were doing. He grunted through the gag but the sound was lost in the fabric. It was so dark that even when he forced his head off the ground—which was very difficult to do while lying face down in the dirt, he couldn't tell who had attacked him.

After a minute or two, there was a rustling sound like a cloak slithering over dead leaves and mossy forest ground. Although he could see nothing else in the night, Merlin's heart thudded even more erratically behind his rib cage as he saw two blood red eyes glowing in the darkness, but they didn't belong to some beast—they were human. He gulped, descriptions of Harry's antagonist raging through his mind. Voldemort.

As shocked as he was at the sight of those evil red slits peering at him maliciously, predatorily from the trees, he literally couldn't believe his ears when he heard the person that had attacked him address the dark sorcerer.

"I've brought you the servant, my lord, just like you requested."

Arthur.


	21. Captured

Merlin had no idea what was going on, but one thing he had figured out for certain was that Arthur was not in his right mind. After attacking his servant and tying him up, the prince had addressed the gleaming scarlet eyes of the dark wizard Voldemort, as the rest of him was shrouded in darkness. Voldemort had responded, and for the first time Merlin had heard the voice of the man who wreaked havoc in Harry's time, murdering men, women, and children; ripping families apart; torturing; and casting terror into the hearts of wizard-kind. This was the monster who had killed Harry's parents while trying to kill the one-year-old child and that had been out to extract his revenge ever since, making sure to destroy as many innocents as possible along the way.

The voice had been even more insidious and terrifying than Merlin had imagined, snake-like and twisted, dripping in malice. It was high-pitched and serpentine as it hissed, "Well done, young prince."

The feeling of despair and betrayal that had washed over Merlin then had been like nothing the warlock had ever dreamed. Arthur had betrayed him, consorting with the very evil he was sworn to defeat. He had tricked Merlin, bringing him out into the woods in the middle of the night, using the trust the servant had for his master against him, attacking, binding, and gagging him, delivering him to the enemy.

The pain that had seared through Merlin's heart had been far worse than the sting of the rope around his chafed wrists, the aching of his stretched shoulders and arms, and the throbbing bruise where Arthur's boot had struck him in the back combined.

Merlin had been angry. He had considered the prince his friend and thought that Arthur felt the same (although he'd rather die than admit it, of course). Merlin had risked his life, risked  _everything_ , more times than he could count for the prat with no recognition, for that great destiny Kilgharra had spoken of. The return of magic to the land, the time of the Once and Future King, the birth of Albion. Even more than that, though, Merlin protected Arthur because of something far more valuable than fate—friendship.

To have Arthur betray that trust now, like this, was worse than any agony Morgana could have foreseen, more terrible than any torture she might have dreamed of. Even worse was the knowledge that Arthur was not just turning his back on Merlin, his friend, but also on Camelot, his kingdom.

This last thought was what had made Merlin realize that Arthur couldn't know what he was doing. The servant knew the prince almost as well as he knew himself, and despite his flaws, Arthur was a fine prince who cared about Camelot more than his own life. Merlin knew, without a doubt, that if Arthur had any control over himself at all, he would not be allying himself with those who posed a threat to it.

Although the rage he felt stirring deep inside him hadn't faded, it had been redirected to those responsible for turning his friend and prince against what he cared about more than life itself. The fire had flared up in his chest and the warlock had had to literally force his magic back down. He could have broken free from Arthur's restraints in a heartbeat, but he couldn't risk using magic in front of the prince, especially when Arthur was like this. Who knew how he would react when he was himself, but in this mindset?

Besides, Voldemort was here which meant that Nimueh was not too far. The two of them were dangerously powerful on their own, but working together they would be all but unstoppable. If only he knew what the dragon had meant—their greatest strength was also their greatest weakness.

Merlin pondered this now as he absent-mindedly tugged at the manacles that circles his wrists, cutting into the already rope-burned flesh. The cuffs were attached to heavy chains that in turn were held to the cave wall. After Voldemort had commended the prince for a job well done, he had disappeared and Arthur had roughly slung his servant over his shoulder and carried him deep into the cave. Eerie floating lights, similar to the ball of light Merlin had conjured when Arthur was on the quest for the Morteus flower—except red instead of blue—lit up the labyrinth of caverns and passages they went through.

They had traveled into a large, tall ceilinged cavern that looked like it had been turned into a dungeon—several pairs of chains hung from the wall. Wordlessly, Arthur had untied Merlin's hands and ankles before clasping them in the manacles and removing the gag. Then he had stepped back a few paces and stood tall and proud with his hands clasped calmly behind his back, seeming undisturbed by the sight of his manservant chained to the wall before him.

Finally, when he could bear the silence no longer, Merlin spoke up, his voice echoing eerily in the cave. "Okay, Arthur, what's going on?"

Arthur shrugged. "What does it look like?"

Huffing, Merlin responded, "It  _looks_  like you just chained me to a wall!" He paused. "Why did you do this Arthur?"

The prince shrugged again. "Because I had to."

"You  _had_  to?" Merlin spat. Maybe if he got Arthur angry enough, the prince would snap out of whatever was messing with his head. "Well, I'm sure that'll be a good enough answer for your father when he asks you why you betrayed Camelot and collaborated with sorcerers!" Arthur didn't look affected by the harsh words. "Can you do this, Arthur? Can you turn your back on your own kingdom? On everything you've ever lived for? On the people? Think about your father, Morgana, Gwen…are you really going to allow them all to  _die_  because you are working for people who would like nothing more than to see Camelot fall?"

Arthur blinked.

It was some kind of a response, no matter how small, and Merlin ran with it, his voice getting more urgent with each word. "Arthur—this isn't you! You love Camelot more than your own life. You've almost died for it more times than I can count. You  _love_ your people, your knights, your subjects! The people love you, too, even if you are a complete  _prat!_  Would you really let the kingdom crumble and evil take over, killing  _everyone_ and destroying  _everything_  you care about!  _Come on, you_ prat _! **Snap out of it!**_ "

* * *

_He felt wonderful, like he was in a dream. Floating on air. He had no worries, nothing to weigh him down. His heart felt light and he was in such a wonderful, oblivious place that he just didn't know what to do with himself._

_Then his orders came._

**_You will go back to the hunting party and act like nothing happened._ **

_Of course, his mind said. Whatever you wish._

**_You will tell Merlin to meet you in your chambers directly after taking care of the horses._ **

_I would have done that anyway._

**_You will tell him a story about sorcerers hiding out in this cave in the woods. You do not want your father to pass judgment unless they are truly guilty of a crime, so you will tell Merlin to sneak out of the castle with you tonight and come to the Darkling Woods to find the sorcerers and see if they are threats._ **

_A quest—how exciting. Of course._

**_When you get to the cave, you will ambush him. Tie him up and wait until I have come to confirm your arrival. Then follow the directions I am about to tell you and bring him to the cavern. Chain him to the wall. Wait for me there._ **

_A small voice in the back of his mind had protested. 'No,' it said. 'I can't do that—Merlin's my friend.'_

**_You can_ ** _, the oblivious feeling in his brain countered, pressing its will against his. **You can…and you will.**_

_The weak voice tried to resist. 'I cannot hurt Merlin. I can't go against Camelot. They are both important to me. I won't hurt them.'_

_The stronger part of his conscience did not budge. **You**_ **will _ambush him._**

_Again, that part of his mind tried to protest. 'I…I…'_

**_You_ ** **will.**

' _I will.'_

**_You_ ** **will _restrain him and take him into the cave._**

' _But I shouldn't—he's my friend—'_

**_You_ ** **will.**

' _I…will.'_

_After that, the little voice had vanished. Until now._

_He heard what the boy in front of him was saying but it didn't register. He was just babbling nonsense, trying to get himself out of the situation he was in. The situation that_ Arthur _had put him in. The relaxed, calming effect on his body and mind wavered a bit and he blinked, but then it came back just as strong._

_The servant was yelling at him now. His subjects. His knights. His kingdom. He blinked again, trying to force the sluggish, trance-like feeling out of his body. Something wasn't right here. He had to escape from this oppressing tranquility; it was dulling his senses and what use would he be in battle if he was blissfully unaware of his surroundings?_

_He felt awareness return to him a little more. Someone was yelling at him?_ Merlin _was yelling at him—the impertinent nincompoop! A wave of anger washed over him as he forced himself out of the stupor he was in, fueled by the fact that his bloody servant was yelling at him and by the knowledge that something really wasn't right here…_

Come on, you  _prat_!  **Snap out of it!** "

And finally, Arthur did.

* * *

"Who are you calling a prat?"

Merlin gasped in relief as Arthur blinked rapidly, the odd look finally vanishing completely from his eyes; they no longer looked distant, glazed over. Still, he had to be wary—it could be a trick. "Arthur?" Merlin asked in a small voice. "Is it really you?"

Arthur smirked. "Of course, you idiot. Who else would I be?" He took a deep breath and took a good look around him for the first time since he'd broken out of the enchantment. His eyes widened as he realized that Merlin was chained to the rocky wall of a cave and that he really couldn't remember much of what had happened over the past day.

"What happened?" he asked shakily. "Merlin, who did this to you?" He knew there was anger in his voice, but this time, he didn't try to disguise it in an attempt to make Merlin think he didn't care. His servant was chained to a wall, for crying out loud. Arthur felt the anger seethe as he saw trickles of blood seeping from beneath the manacles where the cold, cruel metal had cut into the tender skin. Merlin looked bone-tired but wasn't able to sit down—he was forced to stand because of the height of the shackles on the stone. There were a mixture of emotions in his blue eyes—fear, relief, worry, and rage only being a few.

"Er," Merlin said uncomfortably, shifting his position slightly and wincing as his raw wrists were brushed by the clanking metal around them. Arthur fumed—whoever had hurt his servant, chained him up, and made him look so terrified, they were going to pay. "Do we  _have_ to talk about this right now? Why don't you get me out of here first…"

Arthur nodded, not liking the way Merlin had skirted around the subject of who had done this, but needing to get the idiot out of danger before anything worse could happen. He shivered as he remembered Morgana's nightmare and prayed they could escape before it became true. He hurried forward, gripping the hard metal in both hands, trying to wrench the clasps apart. Merlin grunted from the pain but didn't complain otherwise.

The cuffs were strong and Arthur's hands were sweaty, and although he was using all of his strength, he couldn't get Merlin free. "It's no use," he hissed. "I'm going to have to try and find a key."

Merlin didn't answer. He was staring, horrified, at the entrance to their prison, trembling. Dreading what he was going to see, Arthur turned around anyway, his heart skipping a beat when he saw what had caused Merlin to react so dramatically.

Two people walked into the room, sending chills down his spine.

The first he had never seen before, but he knew instantly that this had to be the man Morgana had dreamed about, and the sight of him froze the blood in his veins. At first he thought he was looking at a skeleton with red eyes—that was how white the skin stretched over the gaunt skull of the man was. The eyes were terrifying, evil, crimson like two pools of blood in a sea of white. His nostrils were more like slits and the mouth was curved into a cruel, thin smile. He had no hair and was dressed in long black robes. In his long, spider-like fingers he caressed some sort of long stick. Suddenly something flashed in Arthur's memory.

_He had been chasing after that cursed deer when a cloaked person, tall and skeletal, had emerged from the bushes, wielding that very same stick. Arthur hadn't been able to see their face, as their head was lowered and immersed deep within the hood of the cloak. The figure had pointed the stick at him and said a strange word. Magic. And then he only remembered little flashes until he had woken up as if out of a dream in this stinking, damp cave with a petrified Merlin chained up in front of him._

Magic! The man was a sorcerer—Arthur had been enchanted!

The other person Arthur recognized. He had seen her before, in a dark cave not unlike this one, as he hung by his fingertips from a small ledge, a deadly drop below him and giant spiders crawling up to kill him. She had been the one responsible for the poison in his goblet, the poison which Merlin had been forced to drink. Seeing the hatred that her eyes held as she smirked in the direction of the helpless servant, Arthur couldn't help but wonder if she had actually intended to poison Merlin. But that was ridiculous. Why would she harbor a grudge against him, of all people?

As a matter of fact, why did these people have Merlin chained up, anyway? He was no threat to them—just a puny servant that could barely hold his own in a swordfight. He felt that rage bubble up inside of him again as he thought about Merlin, chained up, exhausted, and bleeding. "Why did you do this?" he bellowed, gesturing wildly at the servant who was watching the exchange with wide eyes.

The woman smirked, while the man looked on, his eyes flashing dangerously as he stared at Arthur. " _We_ didn't do this, Arthur," the woman said. Her eyes flashed gold and he found himself falling backwards, ropes springing out of thin air and wrapping around him. He gasped, the air knocked out of him as hit the floor hard. "You did." Arthur paled.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, struggling even harder.

"Stay out of this, Merlin!" Arthur yelled back, trying to keep his idiot manservant from doing something to get himself killed.

Merlin got the hint and shut up, but his eyes were full of fear and worry as he gazed anxiously at Arthur, who had managed to wriggle himself into a sitting position, arms tied to his sides and legs bound together, glaring at the two sorcerers before him with a look that would have any normal opponents quaking in fear. As it was, they simply stared coolly back at him, unfazed by his reaction.

"What do you mean, I did this?" Arthur asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

The man spoke for the first time since entering the room, and his voice was so evil that even Arthur had to fight not to show his fear. "You don't remember?" he said mockingly, striding forward until he was right next to Merlin who squirmed away as far as he could, the horror on his face tearing at Arthur's heart. The man with the monstrous face clasped an arachnidan, bone-white hand—so pale, that it made Merlin's usually pasty complexion seem  _tan_ —on Merlin's shoulder. The young man shuddered violently at the touch but could not get away from his grasp as the chains prevented him. Smiling a cold, dead smile, he explained, "You were under the influence of the Imperius Curse."

"The what?"

"It is a spell that forces you to do anything the caster orders you to," the man replied in a bored voice. "And I ordered you to attack and bring your servant—" he squeezed Merlin's shoulder, "—to me. Although I must admit, I did not expect you to be strong enough to break out of it, even with your little friend trying to get through to you."

"Wait—the stag, everything, that was a setup?" Arthur glowered. "You lured me away so you could put your…magic…on me?"

The woman nodded and Arthur noticed that her eyes were the exact same brilliant blue that the deer's had been. "I conjured the stag, a mere illusion," she said, "which lured you to where he was waiting to cast his curse on you." She smiled. "And then I suppose you know the rest—you ambushed Merlin here, betrayed him, brought him to us." Her smile was sickening.

Arthur met Merlin's eyes and the servant managed to give the prince a brave smile that said  _I hold nothing against you._  Despite the severity of their situation, Arthur couldn't help but feel relieved that Merlin didn't hate him for what he'd done.

Merlin spoke up then, his voice more confident. "You've got us here," he said, locking eyes with the woman. "What do you want?"

The sorceress took a threatening step forward, her eyes flashing dangerously. At the same time, the man tightened his grip on Merlin's shoulder. Arthur watched helplessly as the two advanced on his friend, who, to his surprise, did not cower like he had expected but instead drew himself up taller, a defiant gleam Arthur had never seen before in those blue eyes.

At the sight of them turning their vile attention onto Merlin, Arthur bellowed, " _Just leave him alone!_ "

"And  _why_  would we want to do that?" Her voice was beautiful and melodic but seeping with hatred at the same time.

"I'm the one you want!" he snapped. "Leave my servant alone!" He assumed that since he was the prince and the fact that nearly every other sorcerer he'd ever met had tried to do him in that they were after him and only targeting Merlin to get to him.

The pale man laughed a high-pitched, malicious cackle. "Do you hear the boy, Nimueh?" he asked, sending a patronizing glare Arthur's way.

The woman, Nimueh, smiled humorlessly. "Indeed I do, Lord Voldemort." Arthur had to suppress a shudder at the sound of his name.

"Nimueh has told me what a narcissistic  _prat_  you are," Voldemort sneered, Merlin's favorite teasing name for Arthur sounding like poison coming from his thin, cruel lips. Shaking his bald head condescendingly, he added. "I am  _so_ sorry to disappoint you, Prince Arthur, but not everything is about  _you_ , Sire."

Arthur bit back an angry retort when what Voldemort had said really sunk in. This was about  _Mer_ lin? Those two powerful, evil wizards were after stupid, clumsy, innocent  _Merlin_? Again, the horrible description of Morgana's dream and his own worry-induced nightmares assaulted his mind.

Nimueh spoke again. "Do not feel left out, Prince Arthur. Although your oaf a a serving boy Is the real prize here, you—and by default, your father—are a  _delicious_ bonus." Arthur stared at Merlin, trying to figure out  _why_ they were so interested in him. Merlin was just an idiotic, friendly servant who wouldn't hurt a fly. Merlin seemed to be avoiding his gaze, however. Voldemort's hand still gripped his shoulder.

"I have to admit, though, I am surprised," Voldemort hissed, taking his bony hand from Merlin's scrawny shoulder and placing it on his head, entwining his skeletal fingers in the warlock's hair and pulling his head back. Arthur struggled furiously as he watched this. Merlin's eyes were darting frantically back and forth between Arthur and Voldemort now. "You're not  _nearly_ as impressive as I thought you would be."

Merlin tried to jerk his head away, resulting in an involuntary whimper as Voldemort refused to let go of his raven hair. Arthur was watching them, his stomach churning with worry for his servant and anger that he was being hurt and there was nothing he could do about it. "Look, I know you're not  _really_ after me," Merlin muttered. "But Harry doesn't even know I'm here, so you're not going to be able to lure him in."

Arthur was  _really_ confused now. What did Harry have to do with anything? And if Merlin was the real "prize," why were they using him to lure in Harry? Arthur had never felt so out of sync with a situation, and quite frankly, it unnerved him—especially since said situation involved his servant and friend's personal health.

Nimueh stepped forward, going to Merlin's other side and placing her delicate hand on the side of his face in what could almost be considered a caress. Merlin couldn't move away from her as Voldemort's hand was still grasping his hair. He flinched but that did nothing to stop her from letting her hand slide down the side of his face and rest lightly on his shoulder. "You're not just a tool to get Harry, Merlin," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice. "You need to give yourself more credit than that."

Arthur watched as his friend gulped, his eyes darting between the two sorcerers flanking him. The anger threatened to boil over again as he saw the situation Merlin was in, but he held it in—two evil wizards had their hands on him and he wasn't about to do or say anything to make them irritated when they could kill Merlin with a single word.

* * *

Merlin fought the urge to close his eyes against the situation. He had never been so terrified in his life. He felt Voldemort's hand immersed in his hair, pulling at his scalp. He detested having that monster near him, let alone touching him. Nimueh's gentler touch was no better. He was chained to a wall, surrounded on both sides and Arthur was staring at him, fear written plainly on his face. Merlin felt a small smile reach his mouth even as Nimueh's hand slid slowly down his neck to his shoulder, where it rested—he had undeniable proof that Arthur did care, he thought ironically. She was saying something, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was too busy trying to keep his magic in check.

He was powerful, and he knew it. He could feel the energy of his magic raging like a windstorm inside of him. He could break free from the chains with just a glint of his eyes, he knew that. Taking on both Voldemort and Nimueh at the same time, on the other hand… _that_ wouldn't be so easy. He glanced at Arthur, bound with magically-conjured rope, his sword lying on the floor across the room, useless. Even with Arthur free and armed their chances of winning would be slim to none. Although Merlin was powerful ( _the_  most powerful warlock of all time, according to his Hogwarts friends), he knew that it was utterly foolish to try and destroy two powerful sorcerers. As Kilgharra had said, together they would be that much more dangerous.

He also wanted to keep his magic a secret from Arthur as long as possible. He had resigned himself to the fact that more than likely, Arthur would know before this was over and that if they lived through it, the prince would have to deal with him then. If Voldemort and Nimueh were to try and harm or kill Arthur, Merlin knew there would be no choice but to use his powers to save him—and not because of some destiny or prophecy he was supposed to fulfill, but because his friend, his  _best_  friend, was not going to suffer or die when Merlin had the power to save him. Arthur could turn him in or not, but Merlin was  _not_ going to let his friend die to protect his secret. If Arthur found out, he found out, but unless the need arose, Merlin was not going to put his secret in jeopardy. He needed to try and see how this played out.

Nimueh was talking again. "Yes, you are much more valuable to  _me_ , Merlin, but as Voldemort assisted me in catching you with his…" she paused, smirking, "…surprisingly effective controlling spell—" the dark lord sent an angry glare Nimueh's way and Merlin realized that maybe their relationship was a little rockier than they had originally thought, "—I have agreed to help him obtain and destroy Harry Potter."

Voldemort smiled darkly, still annoyed by Nimueh's jibe, but thankfully, he finally released Merlin's hair as he moved to stand between the chained up warlock and the bound prince sitting a few yards in front of him, looking more confused, annoyed, and helpless than Merlin had ever seen him. If their situation hadn't been so dire, Merlin might have found the sight of the bewildered prince rather amusing.

As it was, Merlin scowled at the man, still keeping a grip on his magic and trying to keep his bravado up. "That still doesn't change the fact that Harry doesn't even know we're gone or where we are—it's in the middle of the night."

Voldemort laughed his cold, high, sinister laugh and said, "I'm quite sure Potter told you about our…connection." Merlin's eyes widened. "It  _was_ quite inconvenient at first, but now that I know how to use that connection to my advantage…" Chuckling, he twirled his wand once in his fingers and then pointed it straight at Merlin, who tried to hide his fear. Nimueh grinned and moved aside as Voldemort advanced.

Instead of looking at the sorcerer advancing on him, Merlin looked around him, locking eyes with Arthur. The prince was staring back at him, trying to give him courage, hope, support, he didn't know, but it was the gesture that counted. He didn't break the connection even as Voldemort murmured rather delightedly, "I'm sure when he has a vivid dream of his new friend in  _terrible_  danger, he will rush to the rescue, the  _noble_  brat." His voice lowered darkly, and he glanced casually at Arthur. "And as Nimueh has informed me that it is not the young Pendragon's destiny to die at her hands, she has informed me that  _I_ will get to do the honors of killing him myself." Merlin saw Arthur swallow dryly at the man's words, but his face showed no fear, the brave knight and prince that he was coming to the surface.

"Leave. Him. Alone," Merlin said softly and dangerously.

Voldemort just laughed, and, wand still aiming at Merlin, hissed, " _Crucio_."


	22. The Nightmare Continues

_T_ _here is a cave._

_The cave is dark._

_There is a snake._

_The snake is slithering._

_The way it moves is erratic and demon-like._

_The demon snake is circling around something._

_Or two somethings._

_Two bodies._

_The two bodies are so still, so…cold._

_Are they breathing?_

_The snake keeps writhing in a circle around the two cold, still bodies, whose chests do not move._

_They are not breathing._

_They are dead._

_Who are they?_

_They are shrouded in a transparent but obscuring mist._

_The mist lifts._

_No!_

_NO!_

**_NO!_ **

_It cannot be._

_Their faces are pale and their eyes fixed straight ahead, unseeing._

_Dead._

_The snake hisses._

_It turns and its face… faces…are visible._

_The snake has two heads._

_One is the face of a woman._

_The woman is pale, beautiful._

_Evil._

_Pure, unrestrained evil._

_Hate, hunger for power, and thirst for revenge rage on her face._

_Fierce intelligence burn in her ethereal blue eyes._

_The other face of the snake is painfully disturbing to behold and purely venomous._

_Hate._

_Rage._

_Death._

_Pain._

_Eyes like puddles of stagnant blood._

_The snake circles around the bodies._

_The bodies that are dead._

_Dead!_

_All is lost._

_They are dead—the snake killed them._

_The snake killed Prince Arthur Pendragon and his manservant, Merlin._

* * *

Morgana woke with a start, a scream already building up inside of her, but she suppressed it. If she screamed, people would come running. They would coddle her, worrying and fussing, asking her if she was okay but not actually listening to anything that she had to say. She did not have time for that! The dream, it had been so vivid, so urgent. She just knew, somehow knew, that it was real, so very real—and coming soon.

Arthur and Merlin dead. Lifeless in a dark cave, killed by the beautiful woman and the hideous man. The same man in whose eyes Merlin had suffered unimaginably in her last nightmare.

Dead—eyes glassy and gazing at nothing, sparks of life extinguished forever.

She got out of her bed, throwing on the nearest cloak, not even bothering with changing out of her nightdress or with putting shoes on.

Dead—bodies cold and lifeless, their spirits gone, departed, their lives ended. Murdered.

She slipped out of her chambers, her bare feet slapping the stone floor, the sound echoing eerily off the walls. She had to go to Arthur's room, check on him, make sure he was alright and in bed. Little did she know that Arthur had done the same thing for Merlin the other night when  _he'd_ been plagued with bad dreams about his servant.

If Arthur was there, she would sneak to Gaius's chambers and make sure Merlin was alright as well, and if he was, then she would wait until morning to tell them her fears. If not…

She couldn't even begin to fathom the alternative to Arthur and Merlin  _not_ being in the castle. Her stomach was churning and her chest felt tight as she slowly eased open the heavy door to Arthur's chambers. "Arthur?"

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in the room—the  _empty_  room. She raced through the corridors, going to the only person who wouldn't dismiss her dream as nonsense, her cloak trailing behind her.

* * *

_"Crucio."_

_Merlin screamed, gasped, twitched, and threw his head back against the rocky wall he was chained to. The agony in his face was beyond all suffering, the pain of someone simply begging for death. He twisted, shrieked, but did not utter a word of surrender or a plea to die. He was strong even as he tried to twist away from the unbearable pain._

_When the curse was lifted, Merlin gulped up precious air while Voldemort and Nimueh laughed and Arthur begged for them to stop, to take him instead._

_"Very soon," Voldemort promised ominously, his eyes promising the prince's death as well as Merlin's._

_He turned his wand on the warlock again, who wrapped his shaking hands around the chains binding his wrists, using the leverage to pull himself up straighter, his eyes still filled with pain and resigned to what was coming next._

_Voldemort looked entirely too gleeful as he once again whispered, "Crucio."_

_And Merlin's screams and Arthur's protests were all Harry could hear._

* * *

"Harry!" Someone was shaking him, their hands tugging frantically on his limp shoulders. The voice was high and nervous.

"C'mon, mate," another familiar voice chimed in, a warm hand gently slapping his cheek.

Harry's eyes snapped open to the sight of two blurry figures leaning over him. Because he had taken his glasses off before going to bed several hours earlier, his vision was fuzzy but he knew from their tone of voice that if he _could_  have made out their expressions, that Ron and Hermione would be looking very worried.

He groped around for his glasses and Hermione pressed them wordlessly into his outstretched hand. When he could see clearly again, he noted that, sure enough, both of his friends were staring at him anxiously. Harry realized that he was shaking, a thin sheen of sweat covering his body, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his chest. At first he wondered what was making him react like this and why Ron and Hermione were looking so concerned as they hovered over his bed. Then the terrifying events of his dream flooded back into his mind and he sat up so abruptly that both Ron and Hermione jumped.

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked shakily, looking warily at his best friend through worried eyes. "You woke us up, yelling something in your sleep, and you were thrashing around—you looked like you were almost in pain or something."

When Harry did not answer immediately, Hermione bit her bottom lip nervously and asked in a knowing tone, "It was another dream, wasn't it, Harry? Legilimency? You saw what Voldemort is doing right now, didn't you?"

Harry hesitated, the terrible events, the agony his friend had been in, and his fear that what he had seen had indeed happened while he had dreamt of it swirling together in his head. But…

He couldn't help the painful memories of Sirius's death and the circumstances that had led up to the terrible moment when his beloved godfather had slipped beneath that damn veil.

Harry had had a very similar vision to the one he had just had experienced except instead of a moist and dark cave, it had taken place at the Ministry of Magic in the obscure Department of Mysteries. And in the dream he had seen last year, it was Sirius, not Merlin, who was being tortured by Voldemort. Harry had gone to save his godfather only to find out that it had been a trick—Sirius had not been captured by the dark lord. Instead, Voldemort had been using the connection between himself and Harry to his advantage to lure Harry to the Ministry. The rest was almost too painful for Harry to think about—Sirius had come to save Harry and had died as a result. Because of Harry's belief in what his connection with Voldemort's mind had told him, his godfather was dead.

How was he to be sure that this wasn't just a trap as well? He could be trying to save Merlin and Arthur by going to the rescue, and because of his rash gullibility, they could end up dead as a result. Harry didn't know a whole lot about time travel and the implications of messing with the past, but he did know this: a dead Prince Arthur and a dead Merlin would  _really_ screw up the future.

"I dunno," he replied cautiously, fiddling with the bedclothes.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Ron asked a bit impatiently. "Either you do or you don't."

Harry glared at his friend. "How do I  _know_  if that's what Voldemort's actually doing? How do I know he's not setting a trap by making me  _think_  that he's doing something? How do I  _know_  that he's not counting on my being a thick idiot and running to the rescue? How do I  _know_ that someone innocent isn't going to die because I fell for his tricks?"

Ron's eyes lowered as he realized the inner turmoil Harry was going through. Hermione, however, looked her friend straight in the eyes. "This is about Sirius, isn't it, Harry?"

Harry scowled. "This is  _not_  the time to be talking about him, Hermione!" he snapped. He felt tears well up in his eyes but he refused to acknowledge them. "This isn't about him, and this isn't some therapy session where I need to come to terms with my guilt or pain or whatever the hell it is you want me to do! This is about  _Merlin and Arthur_!"

Hermione's eyes went from being hurt by Harry's harsh tone and his words to being scared. "Merlin and Arthur? You dreamed that they are with Voldemort?"

"And Nimueh."

Ron started to pace. "Oh, no, Harry, this is  _not_  good," he moaned.

"You think I don't know that, Ron?" Harry snapped.

" _Stop it!_ " Hermione screeched angrily, momentarily freezing her friends in shock at her audacity. "Harry's right – it's not the time for any of this! We have to go after Merlin and Arthur. Voldemort will  _kill_  them. Do you know what will happen if they die?"

Ron licked his lips nervously. "I can't say for sure but I know it can't be good."

"No. It  _can't_ ," Hermione agreed. "If they were to die, our entire history, the history of the whole  _world_ , wizarding and muggle alike, will be drastically altered. And since King Arthur and his wise wizard advisor Merlin did so much good, there is no way that anything resulting from their deaths can _not_  be a bad thing. We can _not_ allow this to happen. We'll have to find them. Harry – do you know where they are from your dream?"

Harry hesitated, his head aching from the confliction he was facing. How could he go after them? The last time he ran after someone that he had dreamed had been taken by the Dark Lord, that person – his  _godfather_  – had paid with his life. Sirius had been drawn to the ministry to  _save_ Harry and ended up getting murdered  _because_ Harry let a dream and misguided information from an unhappy house elf rule his common sense. How could he risk that happening again? If Merlin and Arthur  _hadn't_ been taken by Voldemort and then one – or both – of them went to rescue Harry once he walked into a trap, he could once again  _cause_ the very deaths he'd been trying to prevent.

But then again…

How could he  _not_  go after them? If there was even the slightest chance that Merlin and Arthur –  _the_ Merlin and Arthur from legend – were in the hands of two powerful, evil sorcerers, he  _had_ to save them. Not just because they were vital to their future – Harry's present – but because they were his  _friends._  He could  _not_ let Voldemort take away any more people that he cared about. He had an obligation, a need, to save them.

But what made him think that  _he_  could save  _Merlin_ , the greatest sorcerer of all time? He assumed that the only thing holding Merlin back at the moment (if he was indeed entrapped in that cave) was his reluctance to show Arthur what he really was. But still…

Merlin could probably beat Nimueh, maybe even Voldemort, individually. But not when they were together. The Great Dragon had said that with their powers combined; this deadly alliance would only prove to make them twice as dangerous. There was no way that Merlin, even with all his great powers, could defeat both of them together. It would be too much even for them.

And Merlin cared about Arthur – not just because of their destiny, but because he and Arthur were friends. All Nimueh and Voldemort would have to do to control Merlin would be to threaten Arthur, show Merlin that they have the power over the prince's life and death. Merlin would do anything to protect Arthur. With Arthur there with him, and Voldemort working with Nimueh, Merlin was all but defenseless.

"Hermione," Harry said slowly, "I don't know if it's such a good idea to go running off after them when we don't even know for sure if they're even in danger. We should at least go and check their rooms first – Voldemort could have planted that dream in my head to lure me in."

Hermione's eyes were sad as she regarded Harry and he knew that she was feeling sorry for him because of the weight of the guilt on his shoulders about Sirius's death and the fright about being in an eerily similar situation right now. He fought the urge to yell at her, to tell her to mind her own damn business but he couldn't. Not when she had his best interests at heart.

"Okay," Hermione agreed, surprising Harry. She'd been so frantic about going after their friends that Harry had feared she would insist that they not waste any time taking precautions. "You're right, Harry, we need to find out for certain whether they  _are_ in the clutches of Voldemort, and then we can act."

Harry was about to respond when there was a pounding on the door of their chambers. Ron smiled doubtfully. "I'll bet that's Merlin right there."

Harry opened the door and was shocked to see Morgana standing there, her wavy hair disheveled and eyes wide and frantic. "Harry," she whispered in relief. "Thank heavens."

"My lady." Harry found it odd treating her so formally after how open they had been with each other earlier.

Morgana ignored the pleasantries. "Harry, may I come in?" No doubt she could see Ron and Hermione standing behind him, trying to take a peek at who was at the door and why they were there.

Harry instantly stepped aside to admit the beautiful young woman. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Ron's grew dreamy at the sight of the Lady Morgana. "Why are you here?" Harry asked, searching her pale face for answers. Realization hit him and he felt sick to his stomach. "You had another dream, didn't you?"

Morgana nodded, a tear slipping from her eye. "I didn't know who else to turn to with this," she admitted. "I normally only tell Gaius my dreams but this one was…" she shuddered. "I don't think he would believe me, I don't think he would  _want_ to believe me. And I know they're just dreams, they're not real…but after what we talked about the other day, Harry. You seemed to understand how I feel…so I thought maybe you would understand this time, too..."

"Morgana – what did you dream?" Hermione asked, hostility gone from her face. She had gone white, meaning that she had made the connection between Morgana's late call and the dream Harry had had. The last time Harry had a dream, Morgana had had a corresponding one at the exact same time.

She closed her eyes. "It…it was terrible," she rasped, her eyes faraway and her voice trembling. "There were bodies, surrounded in mist. A giant snake was circling them, and it had two heads. One of the heads had the face of a beautiful dark-haired woman and the other—" she choked. "The other had the face of a man, a hideous,  _evil_  face, with eyes as red as blood and a face paler than salt-peter. And then the mist lifted…"

"Who were they, Morgana? Who were the dead bodies?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer. His stomach was in the process of tying itself in knots at the moment. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

"Arthur and M-Merlin." Her voice hitched. "I know it may sound silly, but I was so afraid…I went to check to see if Arthur was in his room, and he wasn't. He's gone…and I'm terrified that, as crazy as it sounds, that my dream is going to come true."

Harry's heart was pounding. He could already feel the adrenaline coursing through his body. This was it. He knew it, he just  _knew_ it. It was too much of a coincidence, with both he  _and_ Morgana seeing corresponding images – his being what  _was_ happening and hers being what was going to result from it. He was on the verge of telling Morgana everything – she was so deeply involved already, without even realizing it – and it was obvious she was scared and had no idea what was going on. She  _needed_ to know; maybe she even had a  _right_ to know.

He caught Hermione's eye and she gave a subtle shake of the head. Her expression was tight and he knew that she was warning him against saying anything. She did not trust Morgana, not in the least bit. Harry could understand her reluctance to a certain degree, but she did not talk to her the other day. Hermione did not hear and see how sweet and caring and loving a person Morgana was. He glanced at Ron, who didn't seem to really have an opinion on the matter. Sighing in resignation as he felt Hermione's glare burning a hole into the back of his neck, he gently told Morgana, "I'm sure everything is fine, my lady."

Morgana stared at him. "He wasn't in his room!" she fumed, angry that the one person she thought would trust her enough was casting her fears aside like they were nothing.

Hermione stepped forward, her face not unkind as she looked at the older girl. "I understand how you must feel, Lady Morgana, but I assure you, everything is under control. We talked to Merlin today and he said something about Arthur going on a late-night patrol.  _That's_ why he's not in his bed."

Harry could tell by Morgana's expression that she did not believe Hermione's lie in the slightest. Her face tinged with pink, Morgana glared stonily at each of them, her glare lingering on Harry a few moments longer. The pain and confusion in her olive eyes nearly broke Harry's heart. Without another word, the lady spun on her heel and marched out of the room, her long hair trailing behind her.

* * *

He was screaming, writhing, hissing, gripping the chains that held him to the wall. He threw his head back in agony, smashing it against the hard stone as if trying to knock himself out. Voldemort kept his wand on Merlin, his eyes far too happy about torturing the most powerful warlock in history. Nimueh was standing beside him, smirking, but also glancing possessively at her prey from time to time. Apparently she was supposed to be the one to finish him off.

"Please!" yelled a voice from the floor. Arthur sat there, bound with rope, his face a mask of horror as he watched Merlin's unimaginable suffering. He was doing something that he had never done in his life, something that only being brought to his knees would cause him to do this – he, Arthur Pendragon, was begging. And not for his life, not for the life of a nobleman, but for a servant.

This only made Voldemort laugh his high-pitched, cold, bone-chilling laugh. He was enjoying this far too much.

He lifted the curse and Merlin leaned against the wall, panting and occasionally twitching. "Why?" he asked simply. He felt like his very bones were on fire and his head was pounding worse than anything he had ever felt. Poisoned shards of glass were coursing through his bloodstream, intent on causing him unbearable agony.

Voldemort sneered. "The Cruciatis Curse is another favorite of mine," he said. "Used too much, the victim will go mad." A gleam came into his eye. "I'll have to introduce our young prince to the final unforgiveable curse, my personal favorite, sometime, Merlin," he taunted.

Merlin felt a cold fear wrap its putrid fingers around his heart. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had explained to him about the three unforgiveable curses – the Imperius Curse, which had obviously been used on Arthur in order to force the prince to deliver his servant to Voldemort and Nimueh; the Cruciatis Curse, which was a torturing curse, causing unimaginable torment and was what had been used to torture Merlin; and the final was  _Avada Kedavra_ , the killing curse. Although Arthur had no idea what this final unforgiveable curse was, Merlin knew that Voldemort meant that he was going to  _kill_  Arthur sometime soon. Merlin, however, simply would  _not_ allow that to happen. "Leave…Arthur…alone!" Merlin managed to spit out, his chest heaving.

Arthur was watching the scene with fear dominating his features—but not fear for himself, Merlin knew, but for Merlin. Despite the pain and raw terror coursing through his being, Merlin was both touched and heartbroken by Arthur's torment for his servant.

"I will…for now," Voldemort said softly, his predatory gaze resting on the prince and then moving to Merlin. Arthur struggled furiously against his bonds. " _Crucio._ "

* * *

"I don't feel right about leaving her out," Harry griped after the king's ward had left.

Ron nodded. "You could see it in her eyes – she's really scared. She  _knows_ something's going on."

Hermione shook her head. "I think it was necessary. Despite how nice she may be, or seem, now, we all know that Morgan Le Fay was the dark sorceress that was the ultimate demise of Merlin. I don't think it is a good idea to trust her with anything this important."

"It still wasn't right," Ron argued.

"We don't have time for this," Harry reminded them. "We know that my dream was real, so now we need to come up with a plan. Or rather,  _I_  do."

Hermione and Ron exchanged exasperated glances. "Honestly, Harry, sometimes I wonder how thick you really are – you should know by now that we are not going to let you go alone. We've been through enough together that you shouldn't even  _attempt_  to persuade us to stay behind."

"Hermione, this is different…this is Voldemort  _and_  Nimueh together. It's going to be more dangerous than any of us could imagine. And I cannot – will not – let you put yourselves in that kind of situation."

"That's not your decision to make, mate," Ron quipped rather cheerfully. Although he whined sometimes, he was exceedingly loyal and his bravery when it came to his friends was incredible. "We're coming with you, whether you like it or not."

"But –"

" _Must_ we do this every time, Harry? It's getting a bit monotonous," Hermione interrupted. "Now, tell us everything you know about where they were in your dream. We're coming with you – you'll need all the help you can get. And that's  _that_."

Harry looked between the two. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Ron grinned. "As serious as we are every time you try to convince us to come along."

"You guys really are the best friends anyone could have," Harry sighed.

"We know," Hermione replied briskly. "Now, tell us everything."

* * *

Arthur watched helplessly as Merlin gasped and screamed, his voice raw and hoarse. Arthur knew that  _this_ had been what Morgana had dreamed about.  _This_ was the moment Arthur had tried so hard to save Merlin from. He had failed – failed  _miserably,_ for not only was Merlin suffering but he was being tortured  _because_ of Arthur. Arthur had gone off and gotten himself enchanted. Despite the fact that he had not been under his own control, he had still been the one to betray Merlin's trust, tie him up, and deliver him to these twisted excuses for human beings that seemed to be relishing the servant's pain.

Another shriek tore from Merlin's throat and he started to convulse. He had been subjected to this "unforgiveable curse" for only a minute or so and his movements were already more erratic as he tried to escape the pain. He pulled madly at the chains binding him, his wrists seeping fresh blood. His eyes rolled madly in his head. After a few more seconds, the woman, Nimueh, held up her hand. "Enough."

Voldemort removed the curse and this time it took Merlin longer to recover himself, panting and gasping for air, coughing as his sore throat burned. Arthur felt the rage boiling over the top but was afraid that any rash action from himself would only cause Merlin more harm. Voldemort stepped aside as Nimueh approached the chained servant.

"Why do you not fight back?" she asked, a curious hint to her voice.

Arthur could only stare.  _He's chained to a bloody wall_ , he thought. How _would he be able to fight back?_

Merlin glared at her, sweat trickling down his pained face. He met Arthur's eyes and the prince was floored by the sheer  _loyalty_  displayed there. Merlin had just been tortured almost beyond his endurance and here he was, watching Arthur with a look that said,  _It's okay. Don't worry._  The selfless idiot.  _Why_ did he care so much about the master that made his life hell?

Nimueh must have deciphered something from Merlin's glance at Arthur, for she smiled knowingly, wickedly. "So you still haven't told Arthur your little secret, have you, Merlin?"

Arthur was taken aback. Merlin? Keeping a secret from  _him_? There's no way the idiot could keep any sort of secret from anyone, let alone someone as sharp as his master. The idea would have been laughable if their situation had not been so dire.

To his surprise, Merlin's eyes widened momentarily before he visibly forced the panic back down. Arthur wondered if it was possible – if Merlin really  _was_ hiding something from him. "I-" the boy's voice was shaking. "I…have no secrets from Arthur."

Nimueh chuckled. "Oh. Oh, okay. Of course you don't, Merlin." She smirked. "Lord Voldemort, I don't believe that Prince Arthur is of much use to us anymore, do you?"

Voldemort smiled wickedly and Arthur had to fight to keep the fear off of his face, turning his wand on the prince. Merlin gathered all his strength and surged against the chains angrily. " _No!_  Leave him,  _please_." His eyes filled with tears.

" _Mer_ lin, you  _idiot_ ," Arthur snapped, causing Merlin to stare at him, the condescending, prat-like tone in this situation catching him completely off-guard. "Shut up and stay out of this. You're only going to make things worse for yourself."

"Arth—"

"That's an  _order_."

Merlin hung his head, pain still glazing his features. "Yes, Sire," he whispered.

Voldemort pointed his wand at Arthur's heart. The prince wriggled himself up straighter, defiantly glaring into those evil pools of red, determined not to show any fear. He saw Merlin stiffen and his head snap up, a strange light shimmering in his eyes – from fear to tears, Arthur didn't know. Voldemort was hissing something, something strange and guttural, like a snake, only far eviler.

Arthur was confused until he heard the answering hiss as a snake, quite possibly one of the largest snakes he had ever encountered, slithered out of the shadows, its black, soulless eyes fixed predatorily on the bound prince before it. Arthur glanced up at Voldemort, then to Nimueh, who was staring from Merlin to Arthur with an excited expression on her lovely face, and then to the snake, which was slowly coiling toward him, its pink forked tongue darting out experimentally from between two poison laced fangs as it tasted the air. Voldemort was  _controlling_  that thing?

"Naigini," the man said, eyes filled with unfathomable malice. Arthur figured that was the name of the snake. Again, the dark wizard spoke that strange, serpentine language, his red eyes still staring at Arthur. The prince glanced over to Merlin to see that he was gazing fixedly at the snake, watching every move with a pained expression on his face, his slightly trembling hands gripping his chains tightly. Nimueh was watching Arthur's servant with an unreadable look in her blue eyes and Arthur decided that he did  _not_  like the way that she was observing him at all.

The snake stopped about two feet from Arthur, unnaturally still as it waited for further orders. Arthur knew this was it, that he was about to die, poisoned by this snake that was controlled by an evil sorcerer. He felt sick as he glanced over at Merlin who looked terrified and offered his servant a small smile of what was meant to be encouragement. "Kill me," Arthur said bravely, locking eyes with the sorcerer. "But let Merlin go; he's done you no harm. He's nothing but a servant."

"Arthur…"

Voldemort chuckled. "Yes, I can see that your friendship is very true and open and honest."

Arthur felt confusion gripping him but he refused to acknowledge it. Instead he caught Merlin's tormented gaze and said in a firm voice void of all doubt, "It is."

Nimueh smirked. "Lord Voldemort, we have more preparations. As much as I enjoy all the drama unfolding, I'm afraid it must come to an end. Please tell your pet to kill Prince Arthur now."

At her condescending tone, Arthur saw that Voldemort's red eyes flashed with a great fury. "I advise you not to forget who you are talking to, Nimueh," he sneered. "Time and again I have warned you that I am not someone you would like to make an enemy of." Still, he obeyed, turning his gaze back to his snake, Naigini. This time, when he spoke, he did not use the language of snakes but instead said two words in plain English that, despite Arthur having known what was coming, still made his blood run cold. He sensed Merlin going unnaturally still, almost as if he had resigned himself to something – Arthur's death, probably. Still, the way that Merlin closed his eyes in concentration, obviously ignoring all that was going on around him, didn't boost Arthur's morale too much.

"Kill him." Arthur tensed as the snake slid forward, fangs bared and ready to sink into Arthur's flesh. This was it. He was going to die. He braced himself, refusing to close his eyes to his death, not wanting to be a coward despite how much he just wanted to squeeze them shut. Instead, he focused on Merlin, trying to channel some sort of encouragement to the boy that he knew was going to have it far worse after Arthur was dead because of some strange hatred these two had for him.

The snake slithered closer, its teeth almost piercing his skin…

And then Merlin opened his glowing eyes and all hell broke loose.


	23. Magic

The cave was hard to miss. It was an enormous rock structure that positively reeked of magic, whether it be from some old and ancient enchantment or Voldemort and Nimueh themselves, Harry didn't know. He had felt the cave's magic almost from the moment he and Ron and Hermione had set foot in the Darkling Woods with not much more of a plan other than "wing it" (they couldn't very well come up with a plan when they were in the dark about what was going on). Hermione had suggested that one of the evil sorcerers could have cast a spell on the cave itself, a charm intended to lure Harry to the cave. Harry had admitted that this was entirely possible, because Merlin had not mentioned sensing anything magical when he had been in this area with Arthur during the hunt.

Still, even if Voldemort and Nimueh were behind the magic that was leading them to where Arthur and Merlin were being held, the three Hogwarts students really had no other alternative but to follow it. They  _were_ going to attempt to rescue their friends and if they didn't have a way of locating them, no matter the source, they would more than likely spend the next week, if not longer, wandering about aimlessly through the forest, searching for the cave that Harry had dreamed about.

When they finally  _did_ reach the cave, it was more than blatantly obvious that this was the one. Other than the magic that seemed to be radiating from it and a great sense of foreboding that hung ominously in the air, there was one other thing that clued the three in that  _this_ was where Voldemort and Nimueh had set up headquarters.

Above the cave's peak but still beneath the high canopy of trees, an iridescent, glowing green skull hung. A serpent was slithering from the skull's mouth. The apparition was hazy and smoky but still completely intelligible. The Dark Mark. Voldemort's mark.

They were here.

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione, trying without success to still the frantic, almost manic rampaging of his heart beneath his ribs. He knew that he was about to come face to face with Voldemort – again – and no matter how many times he had been in the same room with the man that had killed his parents and godfather, he still found that it was the most terrifying thing he had yet to experience. He was scared – he wasn't afraid to admit it, even if it was only to himself. Still, he knew without a doubt that what he was about to do was right and everything that Voldemort and his cronies were not. That alone gave him the courage to do the impossible, just like he had done so many times before. "You can still go back," he told his best friends, knowing before the words even left his mouth that they would be falling upon stubborn ears.

Sure enough, Hermione gave him an almost patronizing look. "Harry,  _why_ do you even bother trying to get us to let you face this alone? You know we're never going to change our minds"

Harry chuckled weakly, thankful beyond words for his loyal friends. He knew that no matter the circumstances, no matter the danger, no matter how high the probability of death, that Ron and Hermione would always – _always_  – be by his side and the thought filled him with a hope and peace he hadn't felt in a long time, since Sirius's death at least. He wasn't alone. He had  _never_ been alone. Nor would he  _ever_ be alone.

Ron squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. "We're going to save them, mate."

Harry shook his head slowly. "The odds of success are slim to none."

Ron laughed and Harry was slightly surprised to hear that it was not forced or even scared. Ron sounded resigned that whatever was going to happen would happen, but he could also detect a note of confidence in his best friend's voice that he hadn't expected to find in Ron. "Low odds, eh?" he chortled.

Harry couldn't help but glare at him. "I'm glad someone finds our impending demise funny, Ron."

Hermione traded a weary glance with Harry. "Perhaps the fear has  _finally_ cracked him," she suggested. "Maybe he's mad."

"I am  _not_  mad!" Ron protested. "I'm just thinking – you had basically no chance of defeating Quirrell and You-Know-Who in the last chamber our first year, did you? But you won anyway. In the Chamber of Secrets our second year, Ginny was as good as dead and you saved her  _and_ got rid of Riddle  _and_ killed the Basilisk."

Hermione caught on, taking Harry's hand in her own and squeezing it gently. "Our third year, we managed to save Buckbeak  _and_ Sirius, and they had  _both_ been sentenced to death."

"And  _you_ won the Triwizard Tournament," Ron supplied, "and Dumbledore's Army revealed the truth and turned the tide on everything that had been going on at Hogwarts."

"Our point is," Hermione jumped in again, "is that during all of our years at Hogwarts, we – well, you, really – have been doing the impossible. Who's to say that you won't do it again?"

Harry grinned, feeling his spirits and confidence lift even more. "Thanks, you two," he told them sincerely. He fixed his eyes on the cave's entrance. "Let's hope you're right because there's no going back now."

And they extinguished the lights on the ends of their wands with a collective whisper of " _Nox_ ," and stepped into the entrance of the eerily lit cave, red balls of light hovering at about eye length down through the caverns, leading their way after they had passed through the initial black main cavern.

* * *

Merlin, for the first time since he had been captured, let his magic fill him to the brim. He could see the snake getting closer to Arthur and knew that there was absolutely  _no_  way that he was going to let Arthur die. He had been hoping to keep Nimueh and Voldemort distracted with him until he thought of a better plan other than "wing it." Now that Arthur's life was in danger, he had no choice but to act.

He was well aware that his master and friend was looking at him, trying to find something to focus on as his death loomed just ahead. Merlin knew that Arthur was about to see something that the prince had never dreamed of. There was no way that Merlin could hide his magic from Arthur now. Strangely enough, he didn't feel nervous, at least not about Arthur learning his secret. He actually felt a strange sort of relief flow through him, relief at knowing that after this, no matter what Arthur decided to do with him, that he wouldn't have to hide who he was from his best friend anymore. Of course, he realized it was a moot point anyway, because chances were neither one of them were going to survive this – but he was going to do everything in his power to ensure that they would.

He closed his eyes, letting his magic take a life of its own, willing it to burst from him as soon as he opened the floodgates. His power was raw and the full extent of it surprised even him as he let it go, his eyes flying open and flashing gold, sending a blast of wind straight at the snake, the speed of the air so fast that it sliced Naigini in two.

Merlin's felt his eyes' fire die down back into their typical blue as the two halves of the dead serpent twitching sporadically for a few seconds before falling completely still. Voldemort and Nimueh had also gone quiet for the time being, their eyes fixed on Merlin as if trying to detect what he was going to do next. He knew that they had realized that now that his secret was out, nothing was stopping him from fighting back with all of his magic. In his peripheral vision he could see that Arthur had frozen and could feel the prince's eyes boring into him but he refused to look at Arthur right now – he had to focus and his prince and friend would only serve as a distraction.

Merlin's eyes flashed again and he yelled, " _Rhyddid rhag y cadwyni_ _!_ "

The chains holding him to the wall shattered into nothingness, leaving him free but sore. He turned his attention to Nimueh and Voldemort, knowing that the following battle would probably be hopeless since it would be two very powerful sorcerers, nearly invincible when united, against one lone warlock, despite how powerful he was. It didn't matter though. Merlin would risk anything and everything for Arthur and he certainly wasn't going to stand by and let Arthur die and the future of Camelot fall. He was going to fight, and if he died while doing so, he would die trying. He was done pretending to be helpless.

He was Emrys and it was about time that Voldemort and Nimueh learned that even when their great powers were teamed together, Merlin wasn't someone they wanted to mess with. No—he was done lying down. It was time for him to fight for everything he believed in, everyone that he cared for.

He still didn't acknowledge Arthur, who was still tied up on the floor. Instead, he screamed, " _Tery_!" Voldemort and Nimueh were thrown back, slamming into the wall of the cave. Merlin knew that he had taken them by surprise and their incapacitation wouldn't last long, but he had given himself and Arthur a bit of time.

He finally rushed over to Arthur's side, still not meeting his eyes, and whispered, " _'N annhymerus_ _._ " The ropes binding Arthur fell off and the prince jumped up, lunging for is sword. He spared a fraction of a glance at the two rousing sorcerers before turning on Merlin, who finally made himself look into Arthur's face. He found that he couldn't quite read the expression there – it seemed to be some sort of combination of disbelief, betrayal, and some other that Merlin couldn't exactly place. He studied Merlin for what seemed like a lifetime, although in actuality it was only a few seconds.

"Merlin," he said hoarsely. "You are –"

Merlin didn't give him time to answer, instead, shoved him out of the way as a blast of green light nearly hit him, having been conjured from Voldemort's wand. Both Nimueh and Voldemort were looking livid now, but when the killing curse aimed at Arthur nearly hit Merlin, Nimueh turned furiously on the dark lord. "I told you to be careful!" she hissed, and for the first time since they had been captured by the two villains, Merlin saw her composure slip as she faced Lord Voldemort. He knew that Nimueh did not want anyone else to kill him; he was  _her_  problem.

Voldemort sneered. "Sometimes," he growled, "I wonder  _why_  I even called on you for your assistance at all."

Merlin stared at the two, momentarily distracted by their argument, and the meaning of Kilgharra's words hit him like a bolt of lightning.  _Their greatest weapon will also be their greatest weakness_. Of course! He could see clearly that the two of them had a very volatile relationship. Both were powerful wielders of magic and each thought themselves the  _most_  powerful. They could not stand the thought that they were being assisted by someone else, but after time and time again of being thwarted, they felt they had no choice. He could see now, though, that the pair of them really couldn't stand each other.  _That_ was what the Great Dragon had been talking about.  _This_  was how they were going to defeat them.

Their greatest weapon was their alliance, their powers combined with the intent of destruction. This was also their biggest weakness, however, because their alliance was shaky and could be easily destroyed. The best way to stop them was to turn them against each other somehow. Right now, the best thing that Merlin could think of was somehow causing Voldemort to kill him so that Nimueh, in her anger that Merlin had died at another hand than hers, would turn on Voldemort, hopefully ending in both of their deaths. He found that he wasn't terribly fond of this idea, however, and decided to try and wait to see if a different, better opportunity presented himself. If it came down to it, he would be more than happy to give his life for Arthur's, but he sincerely hoped that there was another way – after all, if he died, who was going to make sure that the dollop-head stayed out of trouble?

"Arthur, get out of here!' Merlin yelled, hoping beyond hope that his master's stupid pride wouldn't rile at his order, but it looked like that's what was going to happen.

Arthur squared his shoulders, hefted his sword, and looked Merlin in the eyes for a long moment. "No," he said simply. "I'm  _not_  leaving you here to die."

Merlin was touched beyond words at Arthur's response. He had thought that if Arthur were to remain here, it would be because he wasn't going to be ordered around by his servant, regardless of whether the servant was actually a powerful warlock or not. He had not expected that heavy note of concern in the prince's eyes or voice and the declaration that he wasn't going to leave Merlin to die, even after he had just been revealed to be a sorcerer.

Seeing the look of shock and gratitude on Merlin's face, he added haughtily, "Oh, don't act like a  _girl_ ,  _Mer_ lin, we're still going to have a  _lot_  to talk about when we get out of this, and we can't very well talk if you're dead." Despite his callous words, Merlin knew there was some affection, some friendship behind them, despite everything that had just occurred.

He spun back to Voldemort and Nimueh. "You've seen what I can do," he bellowed, sounding much more confident than he felt. "If you know what is good for you, you will surrender."

Voldemort laughed a high-pitched, ear-shattering laugh that really held no mirth whatsoever. "You may be  _Merlin_ ," he sneered, "but even the  _most powerful wizard known to man and wizard-kind_ cannot defeat both Nimueh and myself." He closed his eyes for a moment as if sensing something. He smiled cruelly. "He comes." Merlin felt his stomach tighten.  _He comes?_ The only person he could think of that Voldemort would be speaking of was Harry. He felt both a measure of fear and relief wash through his aching body—fear because he didn't want Harry to walk into a trap but relief because he knew that they would have a much greater chance of defeating them if he had his help.

Arthur glanced at Merlin and stepped forward. "You heard him!" he yelled, not having made the connection that it was Harry who was arriving, which Merlin couldn't really blame him for as he had no idea that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were wizards. "You are at a disadvantage. If you surrender to us now, I can assure you that we will kill you quickly and not make you suffer through the pain and humiliation of a public execution."

Merlin winced at Arthur's words. He knew that his friend was trying to help, but as Merlin knew far more about the situation than Arthur, he feared that the prince's words would cause their enemies to grow even angrier. Instead, Nimueh let out a tinkling laugh. "You are precious, Arthur Pendragon," she announced. "To think that you and your warlock would ever be able to  _kill_  us is ludicrous indeed, but to think for a second that we would fear being executed by Uther Pendragon? He does not scare us, but he does anger me. Your father is a hypocrite and a liar, a traitor to us all!"

Arthur looked confused but didn't ask what Nimueh meant. Voldemort's eyes flashed dangerously. "Enough games," he breathed. He turned his wand to Merlin.  _"Crucio_."

This time, Merlin was ready and not about to take the curse lying down. " _Darian i mi!_ " It was the same shielding spell that he had used when practicing with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He hadn't thought of, however, the power behind an Unforgivable curse, especially when wielded by Voldemort. He and his friends had not practiced with them; they were far too dangerous and outlawed in the Hogwarts era and none of them felt comfortable practicing with anything so dark.

While the invisible shield did ward off most of the powerful curse, instead of making it bounce off like the less powerful spells that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had sent his way, it held it back but Merlin could feel it slowly being eaten away by the spell. He quickly reinforced it, calling, " _Darian i mi!_ " again and fending off the spell even more.

Nimueh shook her head slightly. "Come now, Voldemort, why are you wasting your time with Merlin? He is not going to stop fighting his hardest until the one person that fuels his thirst for survival is dead, am I right?"

Merlin felt his heart sink as he glanced at Arthur, seeing from the prince's expression that he knew exactly who they were talking about. He strode forward a few steps, bravely facing the two deadly sorcerers. "What is it that you want?" Arthur demanded. "Is all this a matter of revenge?  _Why_ are you trying to kill Merlin, even if he is a..." he trailed off and Merlin wondered if they survived through this, if Arthur would ever reach the point where he could actually speak the words "Merlin" and "sorcerer" in the same sentence.

"Our reasons are none of your concern, Pendragon," Voldemort hissed. While the dark wizard was addressing Arthur, Merlin happened to glance over to the entrance to the cavern they were in and his heart nearly leaped out of his chest as he saw three sets of eyes staring back.  _Harry, Ron, and Hermione were here._  The warlock wasn't sure how he felt about that; he was relieved that he and Arthur now had backup, touched that the three of them had wanted to rescue them, but also worried about their own safety. As brutal as Voldemort had been with Merlin and Arthur, he hated Harry even more. From what Merlin had been able to discern, Voldemort was helping Nimueh in exchange for her assistance in killing Harry. Merlin raised his eyebrows fractionally in acknowledgement of them being here and saw Harry give a grim nod.

 _Harry, wait there,_  he thought, hoping that since Harry had magic, too, that he would be able to project his thoughts into the other boy's mind like he could with Kilgharra and the Druids. To his relief and amusement, he noticed that Harry jumped just a bit, glancing around before meeting Merlin's eyes again. The message had been received.  _I figured out what Kilgharra meant, what their weakness is. Just wait there so you can surprise him..._  He realized that since Harry didn't know how to project his own voice back into Merlin's mind, this was going to be a rather one-sided conversation. He went on,  _They have a very fragile alliance. They really can't stand each other. We have to find a way to make them fight between themselves so that we can defeat them, or, at the very least, escape._

This time, Merlin didn't have the time to make sure that the message had been received and comprehended, however, because Voldemort said something that made his blood run cold. "Nimueh  _is_  right, though, the great Merlin is not going to even think about giving up until the one person he is so loyal to and wants to protect is dead." Only pausing for the space of a second, Voldemort whipped his wand to Arthur's chest and spat venomously, " _Avada Kedavra!_ "


	24. The Battle

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had found the cavern where Merlin and Arthur were being held very easily because of the trail of red, floating balls of light that led their way. While each of the three in turn tried to convince themselves that it was merely good luck that allowed them this ease of passage, but each knew that in actuality, it was because Voldemort had planned for their coming; he  _knew_ they were on their way.

Harry was in the lead and when he saw the faint, eerie glow of the occupied room ahead, he immediately plastered himself against the wall, motioning frantically for Ron and Hermione to do the same. It didn't really matter, he knew, if they hid or not, because Voldemort had planned for this and their cover could be blown any minute. He felt it imperative to try and remain unseen for as long as possible, though, so that they would have a bit more time to assess the situation.

The fear had left him now, leaving only a hard determination in its place. He knew the dangers that lay just ahead and he knew that there was a huge chance that he would die. He was determined to give Merlin and Arthur the time to escape before he did – along with Ron and Hermione of course. If he had learned anything from his time in Camelot, it was that essential that Merlin and Arthur lived and the past was left as untouched as possible. He knew that they had massively screwed up the latter, but he had to at least give Merlin and Arthur the chance to make things right again and to forge their future the way it was supposed to go so that time would stay on the course it was meant to be on. It was all still very confusing to him, but now was not the time to mull over these things.

Now was the time for action.

He peeked around the corner, relieved to see that although Voldemort and the beautiful woman, Nimueh, were in the cavern, Merlin and Arthur were alive, free, and relatively unharmed. He could only see the side of Arthur, but the prince, even from that angle, looked a little shell shocked and frightened, but also brave and noble, a wonderful picture of the king he would become someday if he lived through the next hour. He was addressing Voldemort and Nimueh, asking them what exactly they were after. Merlin was standing a few feet away and was pale, bloody, and bruised but carried himself with the confidence of the man that had all the power in the world. Of course, Harry reminded himself, that was just about true. Still, it was a new side to the warlock (as least as far as Harry had seen), even though Harry had known that he was  _the_  Merlin. Harry had to admit that he was impressed by the calm on Merlin's face, even though he knew the boy had to be scared.

Hell, who was he kidding?  _He_  was scared. Determined, yes, but bloody well scared, too.

Merlin's eyes met his and widened fractionally. Harry was about to move in when something stopped him – a small and gentle but insistent nudge on his mind. He jumped slightly and a voice sounded clearly in his head. He jerked his head back and met Ron and Hermione's eyes respectively to see if they had heard it but they only shot him puzzled glances so he realized that he was the only one who heard the voice –  _Merlin's_ voice.

Merlin told him that he had figured out what the Great Dragon had been saying when he had told the wizards that the two evil sorcerers' greatest strength would also be their greatest weakness – their alliance in general. Harry could honestly say that he was annoyed that he hadn't thought of it himself. Now that he thought about it, it seemed to be the most blatantly obvious answer. Kilgharra's words had stumped them all, though.

After he had listened to what Merlin had to say, Harry was about to turn and whisper to Ron and Hermione what had just taken place, but before he could something happened that spurred him instantly into motion.

Voldemort aimed his wand at Arthur's heart and hissed, " _Avada Kedavra_."

Harry didn't hesitate, but threw himself out of hiding and screamed, " _Expelliarmus,_ " his wand aimed at Voldemort. Their wands instantly connected with a flash of gold light,  _Priori Incantatum._ He had experienced this once before, shortly after Voldemort had returned. They had thrown spells at each other at the exact same time, just like now, and their wands had connected because their cores were connected – both containing feathers from a phoenix, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. When two wands shared a core, instead of bouncing off of each other they would create a link between the two wands.

Harry didn't have time for this right now, and before they could even begin to lift off the ground like he knew would happen soon, he broke the connection between their wands. He hadn't wanted to force Voldemort's wand to reveal the last spells it had done by forcing the little golden beads to the tip of his wand. He had saved Arthur from dying; he had set out what he had meant to do.

When the connection was broken, Ron and Hermione dashed out to stand behind him, their wands aimed and ready as well. Harry felt the guilt attempt to swallow him again. He knew that they had insisted on coming along, but still, if anything happened to them like what happened to Sirius...

He would never,  _ever_  forgive himself.

* * *

Arthur saw the wand pointed at his chest and heard the harsh spell from the man's mouth. A green light appeared at the end of Voldemort's wand but was intercepted by a red burst of light from the entrance of the cavern and the two combined to form a gold strand of light.

Arthur whipped his head around, confused because the only other two people with magic in the room were in his line of sight – Nimueh and Merlin – and they hadn't fired that bolt of red light. To his utter amazement, Harry Potter stood in the entrance, his own wand held out and pointed at Voldemort. Ron and Hermione were right behind him, both wielding their own wands.

He couldn't believe it. He didn't  _want_ to believe it. It was bad enough that Merlin had lied to him this whole time, but that he had been taken in by three other wizards as well, had even fallen for one of them. He wondered briefly if the four of them were in league together to overthrow him but then passed off the thought as ridiculous. Despite the secrets that had been kept for him, and the fact that he had grown up being told that magic was evil, he  _knew_  that they weren't evil.  _Especially_ Merlin.

Merlin. His idiotic, annoying, lazy, good-for-nothing manservant.

Merlin. His beyond loyal, friendly, sensitive, and caring  _friend_.

Yes, he was angry that Merlin had lied to him and Merlin was certainly going to get an earful about it (and a whole  _slew_  of agonizing chores) later, but there was just no way that he was evil. He was  _Merlin_ , for heaven's sake! He was too idiotic, too nice, to be evil, even if he  _was_  a sorcerer.

Arthur looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, still shell-shocked. "Harry?" he spat incredulously. "What the  _hell_  are you doing here?" He shook his head. "Never mind. You're...?"

He shut up hen Voldemort stepped forward, his eyes locked on his prize. "Potter..." he breathed, Harry's name sounding like poison coming from his lips.

Nimueh smirked in Harry's direction. "So  _this_ is the child that has irked you so, Lord Voldemort." She scoffed. "Funny... he doesn't seem to be all that intimidating to me."

Voldemort scowled at her. "I did not ask for your input, Nimueh. Do what we have agreed, and so will I."

Merlin, as if knowing what was coming next, threw himself in front of Arthur. "I know you never listen to me," he pleaded, his eyes, open and urgent, staring into Arthur's, "but if you try to fight them here and now, you  _will_ be killed. Please... just stay behind us."

Arthur hated doing nothing and his automatic instinct was to argue back, but he had seen enough of Voldemort and Nimueh to know that without magic, he was helpless against them and he would surely die. As much as he detested letting others defend him and fight for him, he nodded curtly. The relief on Merlin's face was so prominent that Arthur felt nothing but wonder yet again at his servant's loyalty, even when he must know that his life was in Arthur's hands if they got out of this. It went beyond the limit, the faith and loyalty he had in Arthur, and the prince couldn't help but wonder why. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, because the battle was beginning.

* * *

Nimueh lifted her hand in Harry's direction, malice gleaming in her eyes as she prepared to try and render his protective magic useless, at least for the time being, so that Voldemort could bypass the magic and kill him. " _Astrice._ " Harry gaped as an invisible force slammed into him, throwing him against the wall and causing him to hit his head on the rough stone, dazing him. He struggled into a sitting position, pointing his wand at Nimueh, yelling, " _Incindio!_ " Fire spewed madly from the end of his wand toward Nimueh, who lifted he hand, conjuring an invisible shield.

At the same time, Voldemort had started throwing curse after curse at Merlin, Hermione, and Ron, who had formed a protective half-circle around the disgruntled Prince Arthur.

Merlin turned from the battle with Voldemort long enough to send a spell that would have been devastating to any other opponent. When it struck Nimueh, she lurched forward, staggering from the impact and jarring her shield. She let out an angry yell as the last spurt of the flames from Harry's wand licked at her armed. She lashed out with her magic at Merlin who just managed to deflect the fireball she hurled at him before they each returned to their respective fights.

Harry sent another curse Nimueh's way but she blocked it easily. Voldemort was shooting off curses like mad, Ron and Hermione doing all they could just to keep him at bay, Arthur behind them, feeling utterly useless and hating every moment of it. The prince despised having no way to fight back. Not only that, but he had to stay behind the protection of Ron, Hermione, and  _Mer_ lin, of all people – people of magic.

No. He wasn't going to think about that now. He couldn't allow himself to be distracted in case an opportunity arose where he could actually be of some help. He needed to be ready for anything.

Still, it would have been  _so_  much easier if he had never found out any of this.

Harry was growing tired. He had done a fair job of fending off Nimueh, but she was a priestess of the Old Religion and knew much more about magic – especially the old, ancient magic – than he could ever dream. Her spells were not deadly but she was trying to incapacitate him long enough to work her ancient magic on him, to remove his mother's protection. Voldemort would not allow Nimueh to kill him. If she did, he would be out for blood.

And then it hit him. He locked eyes with Merlin, who was struggling to keep back Voldemort, who was also in the same situation as Nimueh; he couldn't kill Merlin, only hold him off and try to get at Arthur since there was no way Merlin could be crippled long enough for Nimueh to destroy him until his prince, the reason for his endurance, had been killed. Merlin was now being forced to protect Ron and Hermione as well, because Voldemort had taken to sending killing spells their way since they, to him, were entirely expendable. Harry wanted more than anything to be able to help them, but he couldn't. It was taking all of his energy just to hold back Nimueh.

When he met Merlin's eyes, they both seemed to reach the same understanding. It was confirmed when he heard the other boy's voice in his head.  _I'll tell the others what to do. Just wait for the right moment, Harry, and then take it. We_ will _win this._

Harry turned back to Nimueh, reinvigorated by their new, unspoken plan and ready to take down the evil sorcerers that had caused them so much trouble. He just had to do what Merlin had said, wait for the opportune moment. Until then, he had to fight like he had never fought before (and he had done some pretty impressive fighting in his time).

" _Flipendo!_ " Nimueh threw up a shield in the nick of time, but Harry's jinx still managed to make her stagger back a few steps.

" _Torrwch y brazon!_ " she shrieked in reply.

Harry, on a sudden inspiration, decided to try and use the spell that Merlin had taught him the other day. " _Darian i mi!_ " The invisible shield formed in front of him, spilling from the tip of his wand, and even though he couldn't see it, he could  _feel_ it and its power.

Nimueh's spell hit the shield, and like the time when Merlin had sent a spell Harry's way when he was trying the shield for the first time, instead of being completely deflected by the shield, it ate through, weakening as it did so. When the spell actually hit him, a devastating curse had been reduced to a mildly irritating one. From the two inch long gash that slashed across Harry's arm, he was glad that he had put up the shield, because that could have been  _much_  worse.

He heard Merlin's voice in his head, slightly miffed, but mostly exhausted.  _Why did you block it? That would have been the perfect moment._  Harry chanced a look over at the battle with Voldemort, wishing more than anything that he could escape from Nimueh and join the fight. Or better yet, tell everyone else to run and face Voldemort himself. That was how it was supposed to be, the prophecy said it would either be him or Voldemort. He didn't want anyone else dying for him.

He saw Merlin fighting furiously, his eyes drained as he faced Voldemort, chucking every spell he knew at the monster. Even though Harry did not fancy being sliced or pummeled, he knew what he had to do. When he and Merlin had met eyes, they had confirmed that this would be the way to beat them, to turn them against each other. He had to do this, and if they were lucky, they would get out of this alive.

Focusing all of his attention back on Nimueh, Harry shot another curse at the witch. " _Stupify!_ "

Again, she blocked it, but only just. This time, when she sent a spell back, Harry forced himself not to shield himself. " _Daro ef I'r ddaear!_ "

The spell hit him with tremendous force, knocking him to the floor. His whole body ached with the force of her curse, but he made himself remain limp and keep his breathing low and inconspicuous. Now all he could do was lie here and hope that Merlin had had ample time to mentally explain the plan to Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Hermione screamed when Harry flew back, her shrill shriek causing everyone to pause. " _Harry!_ "

Merlin spun on Nimueh. "I  _know_  that spell!" he spat as venomously as he could. "You  _killed_ him!"

There was a stunned silence. Voldemort looked positively murderous but Nimueh chuckled. "You should study your spells a little better, Merlin."

Hermione took the chance to dash across the cavern and drop to her knees beside Harry. She put her head to his chest, listening for a heartbeat. When she raised her head, tears were pouring down her face. " _You killed him!_ " she screeched, the agony in her voice cutting into Merlin's heart even though he knew Harry wasn't really dead.

Wow, he thought, Hermione really  _was_ quite an impressive actress when the time called for it.

"You were not supposed to kill the boy, Nimueh." Voldemort's voice came out low and slow, his short temper on the brink of blowing completely.

"Lord Voldemort, you are a bigger fool than I thought if you would believe the lies of children over me."

Voldemort snarled, pointed his wand at Nimueh, and screamed, " _Avada Kedavra!"_  Nimueh blocked the killing curse, sending one of her own back at Voldemort.

They battled fiercely, one of the powerful, evil sorcerers getting the upper hand one minute, the next moment on the losing side. Merlin hissed at Ron, "Get Arthur and Hermione out of here; Harry and I will finish this and meet out outside!"

Arthur glared at Merlin, crossing his arms over his chest. "I am  _not_  leaving you,  _Mer_ lin."

Merlin groaned. "Please, Arthur..."

Arthur shook his head. "Sorry, Merlin. I refuse to let you face this alone."

When Merlin felt a taste of his own loyalty rebounding back upon him, the emotions were so raw that he could barely stand it. Tears in his eyes, he whispered, "Thank you."

"Don't worry, Merlin," Ron muttered, not even wincing as a killing curse zoomed right past his head as Voldemort missed Nimueh again. "I'll make sure nothing happens to him."

Merlin smiled at Ron briefly before turning back to the scene before him. Hermione was standing next to Harry, wand drawn. Voldemort and Nimueh were so wrapped up in their own battle to the death that they had not noticed that the "dead" Harry had propped himself up on one elbow, aiming his wand at Nimueh. Merlin quickly shot him the spell he was to use through their mental connection, and Harry gave a slight nod.

Merlin reached out his hand toward Nimueh, while Harry pointed his wand at her. At once, Merlin and Harry said, " _Nimueh anfon at y tir y meirw, dinistrio y wrach!_ "

Their spells hit the witch at the same time, the power raw and incontestable as a great black wind shot at Nimueh, encasing her completely. Sparks flew from within the smoke, Nimueh's inhuman screams renting the chaos as she died.

When the smoke had cleared, her body lay, dead, upon the ground.

Harry flopped back down, "lifeless," needing Voldemort to still believe that he was dead, just in case they needed to take him by surprise. But if what they thought would happen actually took place, Voldemort would be on his way back to his own time, where they could deal with him when the time was right, when Harry was supposed to deal with him. The idea was that with Nimueh gone, her magic would no longer be keeping Voldemort in the past.

They were correct. Almost immediately, Voldemort began to become less solid as he slowly began his journey forward in time. They had been expecting this.

What they  _hadn't_ been expecting was for Voldemort to turn his wand on Merlin, eyes enraged at having been outwitted, and yell, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " before he could completely disappear.

Merlin threw up a shield, but his magic against Voldemort's equally as powerful curse produced the same strange effect he had noticed before. It didn't cause the spell to rebound, but instead kept it at bay until the curse had eaten through the shield and hit him with what power it had left.

Merlin was thrown back as the green light smacked into his chest, trails of smoke seeping from the point where it had hit.

Voldemort disappeared, transported back to the future.

"No!" Arthur ran forward, throwing himself at Merlin's side, his eyes wide and panicked. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed suit.

Arthur felt for a pulse. Hermione shook her head sadly. "No, Arthur...it's too late. Voldemort used the killing curse, there's no way..."

Arthur looked up at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. "He has a pulse," he announced. They looked at the site of the curse, wincing as they saw a bright red wound just over his heart. An odd smell rose from it. "He's alive."

"But how?" Ron asked, amazed yet happy at Merlin's survival.

"His breathing is irregular," Arthur continued as if Ron hadn't spoken. "We need to get him help."

"Arthur's right," Harry agreed. "Right now it doesn't matter how Merlin survived. We have find some way to save him!"

Arthur gave a moan of frustration. "It's a magical wound!" he snapped. "How are we going to find someone who can cure it? You'd probably need magic to fix it."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione met each others' eyes. "We have to get him back to Camelot," Hermione said. "I think I may know someone who can help."


	25. Before It's Too Late

It was close to dawn when Harry, Ron, and Hermione, with Merlin hovering, still unconscious, on an invisible stretcher between them. Arthur had gone ahead back to Camelot after much persuasion from Harry, Ron, and Hermione – he wanted to stay with Merlin, who was barely clinging onto life. It was a good sign, they thought, that he may be more accepting of magic than they had anticipated, at least when it came to Merlin. They had promised to take good care of the servant on the trek back to Camelot and that they would let Arthur know as soon as they found out anything.

They urged Arthur to go on ahead for two reasons – one, they wanted to be given the chance to talk alone about all that had taken place, and two, they wanted to talk to Kilgharra without Arthur there. They had a feeling that the prince didn't know about the dragon, and even if he did, he definitely didn't know that Merlin had been going to him for help. There was so much to explain to Arthur, that is, if he chose to accept Merlin. If not, there was always  _"Obliviate"_ – Hermione was exceptionally good at memory charms.

She didn't think that she would have to use one on Arthur, though, if his reaction to Merlin getting hit with the killing curse was any indication. He had been positively horrified, not wanting to leave Merlin's side. Before he had left for Camelot, to inform his father that he had been captured by sorcerers, Hermione had turned her pleading gaze on him.

"Arthur," she had said, "I  _know_  it's against the law, but you have to believe us... Magic isn't evil, it's just like a weapon – it's the person who uses it and how they wield it that is good or evil. And we're not – and more importantly, Merlin's not – evil."

Arthur had studied her for a long moment, then glanced down at Merlin, a pained expression on his face as he saw his servant, his friend, rasp for air, a bloody wound above his heart and smoke still trailing out of it. Merlin was in obvious pain and it was apparent that Merlin hurting hurt Arthur as well. The prince had responded, "I'm not going to say anything to my father about this, at least not now. As soon as Merlin is well, I want you four to tell me  _everything_. And  _then_  I will make my decision. But for now..." he had sighed, taking another worried moment to look at his servant, "do everything you can to heal Merlin." He had smirked but it hadn't reached his eyes. "After all, how am I going to give him extra chores for lying to me if he's...?" He had stopped talking then, his eyes sad and scared.

As the three best friends had journeyed with the unconscious Merlin, they got a chance to talk about what had occurred, at the same time keeping an eye out for any sign of danger.

"You-Know-Who's still alive," Ron had said glumly.

Harry shrugged. "I think that may be for the best, Ron. After all, he has returned to our time. Who knows what would have happened if we had destroyed him in the past? It might have messed up everything, made the future even worse."

Ron had looked dubious, although Hermione had backed Harry up. "Harry's right, Ron. Even though the thought of life without Voldemort is wonderful, if Harry killed him here, in the past, he could have very well opened up a vacuum in time that could have very well been filled by someone even worse than Voldemort."

Ron snorted. "Someone  _worse_  than You-Know-Who? Right."

Hermione had paused, bit her lip, and said in a rush, "You know what I don't get, though?" Without waiting for an answer, she plowed on, "I fully expected us to vanish back to our time when Voldemort did. After all, it was Nimueh who brought all four of us here. Why did Voldemort go back to our time, but not us? We should have been linked to her power, too."

Harry sighed. "Nothing makes sense anymore." He had glanced down at Merlin, who was writhing slightly on the non-existent stretcher, strangled grunts of pain rasping through his parted lips. "But I don't think this is our biggest problem right now."

Hermione's eyes welled up with tears. "He can't die, Harry," she whispered.

Harry had noticed that Ron hadn't looked jealous like he normally did when Hermione got emotional over another boy. Instead, he looked just as deflated, just as sad. Harry felt a lump form inside of his own throat as he looked at his suffering friend. "I know," he had said simply.

Now, as the three best friends reached the edge of the Darkling Woods and saw Camelot right ahead, they lifted the spell that had been carrying Merlin for them. They would have to carry him without magic the rest of the way – everything would be ruined if they were spotted waving wands, making someone float. They  _had_ to get to the Great Dragon. He was the only one they could think of that might have the ability or at least the knowledge of how to save their new friend.

* * *

Ron, Harry, and Hermione stood before Kilgharra, Merlin lying almost lifelessly on the cold cave floor, his breathing shallow and face unnaturally wan in the flickering light of the lighted tips of the three wizards' wands. Hermione was wringing her hands nervously, eyes darting to Merlin and then up to Kilgharra, terrified that they were too late, that they were not only going to lose their new friend – but that the future of wizard and mankind would be doomed when Merlin died, such an important figure he was.

Ron no longer looked nervous in Kilgharra's presence. Something had changed in him during the fight. He felt different, braver, seeing that everything – the fight against Voldemort, the war against dark magic – was not as hopeless as he had once assumed. Even more than that, though, he had gained a whole new level of respect for Merlin. He no longer saw the boy as a clumsy annoyance that stood between he and Hermione. He wasn't the idiot everyone took him for – he was brave and carelessly loyal, ready to do anything and sacrifice everything for those he cared about. He had come to the realization in the cave that the Merlin they had met here and the Merlin told about in countless stories were not all that different. He was beginning to see, more and more, the wise wizard he would one day become. He was also beginning to see Merlin as a very good friend and didn't want to see him die.

Kilgharra's golden eyes went wide as he saw the limp Merlin before him and he flew to the rock where he usually perched, settling himself on it and craning his long neck forward so that he was less than two feet away from Merlin. "What happened?" he roared suddenly, making all three of his conscious visitors jump.

"Nimueh is dead," Harry answered first.

The dragon's head reared up in shock. "How? Tell me everything."

Taking turns, the three Hogwarts students regaled their adventures, from Harry and Morgana having similar dreams again, and finding Voldemort and Nimueh in the cave, killing Nimueh, Arthur finding out about Merlin's magic –

"The prince knows of the young warlock's powers?" Kilgharra interrupted, eyes flashing like fire. "What was his reaction?"

"I was getting to that," Ron grumbled, and despite his new found courage, he backed up as a low, impatient growl rumbled in the dragon's throat. He swallowed nervously. "He..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Hermione snapped, rolling her eyes at Ron's antics and casting another concerned look at Merlin's still form. "He was surprisingly accepting. He left before we did, since we were going to magic Merlin back to Camelot, and he was going to tell his father about Nimueh and Voldemort."

Harry piped up, "He promised us that he would not say anything to his father about Merlin, or for that matter, Ron, Hermione, and me, until Merlin is better, and then he wants us to tell him everything. Then he said he will decide what to do." He paused. "I don't think that we have much to worry about, though, honestly. You should have seen his reaction when this –" he gestured vaguely to Merlin's unconscious form, "– happened. He was beside himself with worry. I don't think he believes Merlin could be evil."

"Hmm." Kilgharra let out a huff of air. "Let us hope so, because so much is already at risk, young wizards. Their destiny is in danger, the future of Camelot and Albion teetering on the edge of collapsing completely. If Prince Arthur chooses not to accept Merlin's magic, all will most certainly will be lost."

"We know a memory charm," Hermione supplied helpfully, Ron and Harry nodding as they backed her up. "If he doesn't accept Merlin, I can erase his memory so that he doesn't know about Merlin's magic."

"Perhaps so," the dragon said evasively, "but, like time, memories are tricky to deal with, little witch. Any alteration of what has already been done, what has been witnessed by the young prince can just as easily rise up against even the strongest magic and noblest efforts."

"That's why you have to heal him!" Hermione insisted, desperation in her voice.

The Great Dragon bent his great head down, studying Merlin from an even closer distance. "Tell me what happened. How did he obtain that wound?"

"He was... hit. By a curse," Ron answered slowly. "A killing curse."

The dragon's eyes were weary as he sighed small streams of smoke. "A killing curse?"

"He used a spell,  _darian i mi_ , against one of Voldemort's killing spells," Harry explained. "I guess when the two types of magic mixed, instead of Merlin's shield repelling the curse and making it bounce off, the spell sort of... ate through his defenses. I don't know how he survived."

"Mmm." The dragon eyed Harry carefully. "You are the only other person that has survived this curse, are you not, Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded uncomfortably. "But not in the same way Merlin did. I had my mother's love to protect me, that's how Voldemort was defeated when I was a baby. Merlin conjured a magic, invisible shield but the curse broke through and hit him."

When Kilgharra spoke again, his voice was grave. "When the young warlock conjured the shield, it held the killing curse at bay until the spell's slightly different magic ate through it. While it was burrowing through Merlin's defenses, it was weakened by them, and so, when the spell actually hit him, it was not as strong and with much less impact than the original curse would have been."

Ron looked confused as to why Kilgharra seemed so glum. "But... that's good, isn't it?" he asked slowly. "The curse wasn't as strong and Merlin's not dead!"

"Young man," the dragon snapped, golden eyes locked on Merlin, who twisted on the dirty ground, gasping for air as the wound on his chest oozed a little more blood, "just because the curse was weakened does not mean that it is not still a problem. Instead of killing Merlin, it, for want of a better word, poisoned him. The wound is infected with the dark magic from the curse, and will continue to suck away his life force until it is completely gone. He will be dead within the hour."

The news hit the threesome like a blow to the stomach and they looked at each other, desperation lining each of their faces. "But... there has to be something you can do!" Hermione cried, no longer able to hold back her tears. Merlin couldn't die, not now! Forget the prophecies, forget the future – she didn't want her  _friend_  to die! "You are a dragon, the last of your kind! You have powers no human could ever imagine. Please..." Her voice was more of a whimper than anything.

Kilgharra sighed. "The best I can do is hold off the effects of the cursed wound for a little while. There is only one creature that is pure enough, innocent enough, and whose power is so raw and incontestable that it can heal a curse like this, and they are rare – very rare, if not extinct. Even if I were able to prolong his life for a few hours, or even a few days, it would be completely impossible for you to find the only force in existence that can save Merlin." He sounded weary, lost. "I fear that the prophecy, that the rein of King Arthur, the return of magic to Camelot, and the uniting of Albion is lost."

Ron glared at the dragon. "Damn the prophecies! This isn't what this is about – we're not trying to save some future like you are anymore. We're trying to save our friend. So you tell us what kind of creature can cure Merlin, and then heal him for as long as you can, because we  _will_  find it, and we  _will_ save him, damn the impossibilities."

Hermione stared at Ron, her eyes watering and bottom lip trembling. "Ron..." she whispered, awe in her voice.

The dragon interrupted, looking surprised at Ron's audacity but impressed at the same time. "Very well," he replied. "The only creature pure enough, powerful enough to save the young warlock is a phoenix. A phoenix is –"

"A bird of fire," Harry interrupted. Hermione looked a bit annoyed, normally she was the one who spat out answers quicker than the person could pose them, but this time, it was Harry's turn. He knew about phoenixes. "They live for five hundred years, then burst into flame, and are reborn from the ashes. Their tears have healing powers. They can heal even the deadliest poisons..." His voice trailed off. "When I was twelve and in the Chamber of Secrets, my arm was pierced by the fang of a basilisk. A phoenix healed me."

Kilgharra dipped his head. "Correct. Be that as it may, the fire-bird is exceedingly rare, especially in this time, and in this place. There will be no way to find one in time to save the young warlock. I am sorry."

Hermione let out a sniffle and Ron hung his head. But Harry had been struck with an idea. "Ron, Hermione, we know where a phoenix is! I just said, Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, saved my life four years ago in the Chamber of Secrets! He can save Merlin!"

A tiny spark of hope flitted in Hermione's eyes. "But," she said timidly, "we do not know how to get back to Hogwarts or send Merlin back to Camelot even if we did get there. We're centuries in the past, Harry. Time is the most impenetrable barrier there is. Unless..." She focused her attention on the Great Dragon. "You said that Merlin would be able to send us forward in time, when the time was right. We didn't know what you meant—"

"Still don't," Ron interjected, causing Hermione to glare at him warningly before continuing.

"—but maybe if you revive him for as long as you can, he will be able to find out how to transport us forward so that Fawkes can save him."

The dragon let out a chuckle. "You really are the brightest witch I've ever known, Hermione Granger," he praised her, and Hermione blushed redder than she ever had before, everything from the base of her neck to the tip of her ears turning crimson at the compliment – from a dragon!

Kilgharra took a deep breath and spewed out an invisible force onto Merlin's broken body, the temporary healing spell working right away. Merlin stirred, groaning, and opened his eyes.

* * *

_He was in a crushing, swirling whirlwind of pain and confusion. His chest was screaming, his heart pumping much faster than it should have been... or maybe slower... He couldn't tell._

_Up was down, left was right, the mist was encroaching upon him. He couldn't move, he could barely breathe._

_He could feel his life leaving him, breath by breath, and he knew that he would not last much longer._

_He wasn't even sure who he was anymore; he didn't know why he was hurting or what he had done to deserve such pain. Was he already dead? He didn't think so, but then again, does one really know when they are dead? He didn't know, and quite honestly, didn't care._

_All he wanted was for the pain to stop._

_Every so often he would hear noises, snippets of conversations that were so disjointed they didn't make any sense at all, and he was in so much pain he didn't even try to interpret what they were saying._

_All he knew was that there was a girl's voice... A pretty voice, and it sounded very sad. He didn't know who this girl was, be he didn't want her to be upset. He wished she'd stop crying._

_There were two other voices, both masculine, both worried. Why was everyone so upset? Were they even real? He doubted it, he was hurting so terribly that if he wasn't dead, he was more than likely hallucinating. He didn't know anything anymore._

_Then he heard a fourth voice, this one strong and powerful. He knew that whoever – or_ whatever _– was speaking was very strong, very magical, very_ real _. He just didn't know who it was._

_And then...he felt something other than pain for the first time in what felt like decades. A warm, but not entirely uncomfortable sensation spilled over his tortured body, lending its temporary life to his screaming heart. The pain began to recede a little, and then some more, until it was all but gone; every hurt except for the awful ache on his heart had stopped._

_With what felt like monumental effort, he groaned and opened his eyes..._

* * *

Merlin moaned and squinted open his eyes, the fire in his chest raging in pain. He blinked a couple of times, staring up to see Ron, Harry, and Hermione kneeling over him. Looking straight up, he nearly leaped out of his skin when he saw Kilgharra's massive head looming just mere feet above him. "Ah!" he squeaked, glaring at the dragon, who gave a low rumble.

"Merlin!" He was taken aback as Hermione threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "We were so worried about you!"

Merlin blinked. They had been worried about him? But why? What had happened that had caused them concern for him? As a matter of fact, what had happened after they had killed Nimueh? He had no idea but intended to find out.

Pushing Hermione back gently, he struggled to get to his feet and smiled gratefully at Ron, who held out his hand to assist the warlock to his feet. His legs were shaky, but he was able to stand. He winced as the pain in his chest flared up again but worked past it, needing to know what had happened. First, though, and most importantly –

"Where's Arthur? Is he okay?"

Harry smiled reassuringly at his friend. "He's fine, Merlin. He's reporting what happened to the King right now."

Merlin felt panic fill him up. Arthur had found out about his magic – about all of them having magic! And he was reporting to Uther right now? They were as good as dead; he had no idea why his friends seemed to be so happy.

"Don't worry, mate," Ron hastened to placate him. "Arthur's promised not to say anything to King Uther. He wants to know everything, and then he will make his decision. But first, Merlin, you need to get us back to the future."

Merlin blinked, not expecting this, now of all times. He had hoped that his new friends might have wanted to stay a little longer in Camelot now that they were out of danger. He had not realized that they would be in such a hurry to get back to Hogwarts. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't want to leave them. Not yet. "You want me to send you guys back  _now_?" he asked weakly, cringing as another sharp pain shot through what appeared to be a bloody wound on his chest. He wondered vaguely how it got there. "But I don't even know  _how_."

"You've got to try!" Hermione insisted. "Merlin, you were hit with a killing curse."

Merlin quirked an eyebrow at her. "I think you may be mistaken, Hermione," he said slowly, spreading his arms out and turning in a circle. "I'm pretty sure I'm still alive."

Hermione glared at him. "This isn't funny!"

"Look," Harry intervened, noting that Kilgharra was not offering any input of his own, but simply sitting back on his haunches, wings folded neatly on his muscular, scaly back, watching them with unfathomably deep golden eyes. "Merlin, when you threw up a shield to stop the curse, Voldemort's spell managed to get through it. The best we can figure, your shield weakened it enough to where it did not kill you immediately. Instead, it left that wound, which is infected with its dark magic. It's slowly sucking your life force away. Kilgharra was able to revive you for a little while, but if you don't get healed soon, you'll be dead in anywhere from two hours to two days."

Harry's words struck Merlin, who was suddenly feeling numb. He didn't believe. He couldn't believe it. He was  _dying_? But... he didn't  _feel_ like he was dying. Other than the stinging ache in his chest, he felt fine. Then again, Harry  _had_ said that the Great Dragon had revived him for a little while (and, knowing his luck, he would only last two hours, not two days). Shakily, he asked, "What does this have to do with you wanting me to send you to Hogwarts?"

"Not just us, Merlin,  _you_ ," Hermione explained patiently. "Only a phoenix's tears can heal a poisoned curse-wound like that. And Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, has a phoenix, Fawkes. There is no way we'd be able to find one here in time, they're much too rare and secretive. Merlin, this is your only hope. If you don't figure out how to transport all four of us forward in time, back to Hogwarts, you will..." She trailed off, her voice sad.

"Die," Merlin finished glumly. He felt a cold hand of fear gripping his heart, along with another searing pain that almost brought him to his knees. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes and he angrily brushed them away, not wanting his friends to see him cry. He wasn't afraid of dying, not really. But of leaving his friends, leaving Arthur, ruining his destiny, and failing his best friend and prince. He couldn't stand the thought. Still, he had no idea how to time travel. It was hopeless. "There is no hope, then," he murmured. "I have no knowledge of how to pass through time. I can't..." he choked back a sob, hating himself for appearing so weak. "I can't get us back. I'm sorry I failed."

He felt someone's arms around him as Hermione buried her face in his shoulder. Ron and Harry both joined in on the hug, comforting him. As much as he appreciated his friends being there for him, he couldn't help but feel that everything – his destiny, his future,  _everything_  – had turned against him.

"You did  _not_  fail, young warlock." Merlin looked up in surprise, blinking back his tears as he stared at Kilgharra.

"Don't you understand?" Merlin raged at the dragon. "I'm going to die! The prophecies are lost, our destinies are lost, your bloody coin is lost! It's  _over_. I can't time travel. I don't have the knowledge."

"But I do."

Merlin stared at him, an enormous range of emotions cascading over him. Disbelief, hope, anger... "You've had the knowledge?"

Kilgharra dipped his enormous head. "Yes, young warlock."

"You mean to tell me that you could have told me how to get them home at the beginning?"

"Yes, young warlock."

Merlin glared at the dragon. "Why did you keep it from me? Why did you act like you had no idea how to send them back?"

"Because, young warlock," Kilgharra responded, none too patiently, "once I realized that Nimueh and Lord Voldemort had combined their powers, I knew that their joint magic would be too powerful, even for you, Merlin. I knew that even though their being here could alter the fabric of time, that you would not be able to defeat Nimueh and Voldemort without their help, and then you  _certainly_  would have died. I kept the information until you had defeated Nimueh and Voldemort."

Hermione looked angry but didn't say anything to Kilgharra other than, "Please, just... give him the knowledge."

"Wait," Merlin said quickly. "You can go ahead and give me the spell. But before we go, I want to talk to Arthur. Just in case... in case everything doesn't go to plan. I don't want to... to die with him wondering if I was evil, with him doubting how much I care about him. He's my friend..."

"Merlin, I'm sorry," Harry said. "But we really don't have time. We have to get you to Hogwarts, fast. It's your only chance."

"If Ron or Hermione were angry at you, or questioning your loyalty to them, Harry, and you might not live to show them where your allegiance stands, would you not want what I do? I'm sorry, but I'm  _not_  leaving Camelot until I've talked to Arthur. I know you've made some new friends, as well. You can say your goodbyes and tell Gaius what happened while you're at it. We'll meet in your guest chambers in an hour. I  _have_  to talk to Arthur. I  _have_  to set this right.  _Before_  it's too late."


	26. The Truth

Arthur trudged down the deserted corridor toward his chambers, his head spinning and eyes drooping. He had just finished reporting what he could to his father about last night's events. Uther had been, for lack of a stronger term, enraged that his son had been kidnapped by sorcerers, although when Arthur had mentioned that Merlin had been taken as well, Uther simply waved it off. Irritated with his father's lack of concern for his friend and wanting Merlin to get at least a little credit since he had saved them, he had told his father that it was Merlin that had provided the distraction, nearly dying in the process, that allowed Arthur to make the final blow. To this declaration of Merlin's loyalty and bravery, Uther had given Arthur a strange look and said airily, "That's what any citizen of Camelot should be expected to do for their Prince. Let me know if he dies; we will find a replacement immediately."

His father's response had angered Arthur more than even he cared to admit, but he had pushed it back, not wanting to get into it with Uther when all he wanted to do was rest his aching head. When he heard that one of the sorcerers had disappeared before they could kill him, he had sent out patrols at once. Arthur hadn't mentioned that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been involved because he didn't want to cast any suspicion on them before he found out what exactly was going on.

Finally, after skirting around the truth while still trying to tell his father what had happened, Arthur had been sent off, saying he needed to rest, the prince had left gratefully, still seething at Uther's disregard for Merlin's health after the self-sacrificing idiot had saved them all. This mingled with worry for Merlin and disbelief of all that had occurred over the night mingled in his head, refusing him the sleep he so desperately craved even as he lay in his bed, staring up at the rich red canopy above him.

While they had been in the cave, Arthur hadn't really had much of a chance to reflect upon what had been revealed to him. Now he found himself trying to puzzle through his emotions and the events that now seemed so surreal, trying to decipher exactly how he felt about the situation and what this was going to mean for Merlin. He rolled over, gripping his head in his hands, tugging at his hair, trying to get the painful swirl of thoughts and the banging war-drums out of his aching brain. He just wanted to rest...

Merlin. A sorcerer.

He still wasn't sure he believed it, and he had seen Merlin perform several powerful spells with what seemed like considerable ease. That scared him, more than a little, because who would have ever thought that  _Mer_ lin, the bumbling, babbling, stammering  _idiot_  could be capable of wielding such power? He wasn't sure what to think; all of his life he had been told that magic was evil, that it corrupted the soul.

But Merlin's soul wasn't corrupt...was it?

He snorted quietly into his pillow, the thought ludicrous. Arthur had come into contact with many people who had been corrupted and poisoned – not all by magic, some by hate, bitterness, or just the toll that life in general had taken upon them – and Merlin was certainly not one of them. In fact, the naïve innocence, the caring and selfless loyalty in those big blue eyes of his was almost childlike in its purity.

He considered, just for the shortest of moments, turning Merlin in. He had broken the law, and even if he wasn't corrupt yet, he would be eventually, right? Arthur had thrown away the foolish thought instantly, trying without success to ignore the guilt at even considering turning his friend in that washed over him. Merlin wasn't corrupt. He had no doubt that Merlin had seen hard times, and, if what had happened last night was any indication, he had been in great peril many times as well. But instead of being hardened by it, Merlin seemed to retain his goodness –  _and_  his idiocy.

What had he been thinking, letting his relationship with Arthur get in the way of escaping from the cave while he had the chance? He hadn't had to kill him, but he could have at least fought back while Arthur had pounced on him, tying him up and delivering him to the enemy. Arthur still hadn't come to terms with the guilt for betraying Merlin like that, even if he hadn't been in his right mind. Then again, maybe that hadn't happened the way Nimueh and Voldemort had said. Perhaps they had just been trying to make Arthur doubt himself. He doubted it, though. Merlin had seemed very reluctant to tell Arthur who had done that to him...

He turned to his other side, letting out a pathetic little moan – more like a whimper – that said,  _Please, I just want to sleep_. But his mind was still spinning and he couldn't seem to make it stop long enough to let his exhausted body shut down.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

It seemed unfathomable. Arthur had to wonder  _what_  the moron had been thinking, coming to Camelot when he was studying magic. Did the idiot have  _no_ sense of self-preservation? And why, if he had that much power, had he resigned himself to be a lowly servant – to a prince who never listened to him, who ordered him around like he was a dog, who threw things at him and put him in the stocks, and who had seen Merlin's loyalty and friendship time and time again but had refused to call him "friend"...

He huffed, the force of his breath causing his soft sheets to blow forward and then fall back, tickling his nose, and allowed his mind to wander to the three visitors. He had no idea what Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been thinking when they had come to Camelot under the pretense that they had escaped from a crazed sorcerer, when they were sorcerers as well. Unless...

Arthur thought about how Merlin had told Voldemort that he knew the man was after Harry, but that Harry wouldn't come... And he recalled how Voldemort's demonic red eyes had widened in sick, twisted glee when Harry had darted through the mouth of the cavern, deflecting a spell that would have killed Arthur... Perhaps they  _had_ been telling the truth, at least partially. Maybe  _Voldemort_  was the wizard that had attacked their village, that they had come to Camelot for protection from.

Whatever the case, Arthur couldn't be mad at them, even if they had lied to him. Irritated, yes –  _very_ irritated. But how could he be angry with the people that had risked their lives to save his own? He just wished he knew the truth, but until they had made sure Merlin would be alright, he supposed he was just going to have to wait, no matter how much he  _hated_  waiting. Merlin's life took priority over Arthur wanting to know what was going on.

He shifted again, an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about Merlin. Surely he would be okay... He had to be... After everything that Arthur had done to save him when the selfless servant had willingly drunk that poison in his place, after everything they had been through together... There was no way that  _Merlin_  could die. In fact, it would be plain  _rude_ of him if he died, after all that Arthur had done to keep him alive...

If only that were the case. If only Arthur could march down to Gaius's chambers or wherever it was they had taken Merlin and  _order_  him to get better, not to die. He had half a mind to get up and do this that, even though he knew it was pointless. He felt wrong, like he should be by his servant's side, and lying here in his nice, fluffy bed while Merlin was possibly fighting for his life seemed to be the most selfish thing he could be doing at a time like this.

Funny, he had never thought this way, measuring his actions and attitudes, until he had met Merlin. Merlin had not hesitated to tell him off the first time they had met, and hadn't since. Slowly a friendship had begun to bloom, but Arthur had been too blinded to see it... Or too ignorant. He had known for a while that Merlin considered him a friend. And even  _before_  that, he had come to the realization that for some reason, Merlin would do _anything_  and sacrifice  _anything_  for the prince that he claimed was so selfish and arrogant.

_Merlin, Merlin, Merlin._

Arthur had no idea how he would react if Merlin actually died. As much as he complained about the idiot always being around, yammering away when he most needed quiet, offering advice when his ego least wanted it, and stretching out a hand to help when Arthur just wanted to do it himself, he knew that life without Merlin would be...unthinkable. Because as much as he hated to admit it, sometimes he needed that yammering to keep him focused on what was really important. Sometimes he needed the advice that Merlin gave him, even if he refused to heed it at the time it was given. And sometimes he was sinking so much in his duties, his life, his emotions and doubts, that he would have drowned in the stress if it wasn't for that ever-loyal hand, extended in an offer to help and in  _friendship_.

He needed Merlin. Merlin kept his priorities straight, was always willing (sometimes  _too_  willing) to tell exactly what he thought about a situation, and he always _, always_ , wanted to help. He was a bumbling idiot, yes, but sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he was scarily wise and much too loyal. If he died, if Arthur never saw that dopey grin again, if he never heard that senseless prattle, if he never got a chance to find out just  _why_ Merlin stayed in Camelot as Arthur's servant when he would have been so much safer somewhere else...

No. He wasn't going to think like that. Merlin was going to be fine. He was going to survive, and he was going to tell Arthur everything, and then Arthur would give him so many chores for keeping this from him that he'd never finish them, even  _with_  magic.

Struck with a sudden urge – more of a  _need_ , actually – to see Merlin, to find out how he was doing, Arthur all but leaped out of bed, throwing his covers aside. His feet slapped the cold floor with an urgency as he hurried across his chambers, determined to make sure that Ron, Harry, and Hermione had gotten Merlin back to Camelot safely, and find out where they were, and, most importantly, to make see how Merlin was doing.

He flung open his door and stopped short, convinced that he was finally losing it after all the stress, after everything that had happened, and that he was seeing things.

Standing on the other side of his door, hair disheveled and a loose bandage visible beneath the hole in his shirt, was Merlin, fist poised to knock.

When he spoke, his voice came out much weaker than he would have liked, but he found that he didn't really care. "Merlin?"

* * *

Harry bit his lip, his had balled in a fist, poised to knock on the door, but not having worked up the nerve yet. He took a quick glance over either shoulder, ensuring that he was still alone. Ron and Hermione had gone to Gaius, to tell the old physician everything that had happened and to let him know that Merlin was going to Hogwarts with them, for a little while, at least, lest he die. Harry had opted to stay behind, saying that he needed some time alone to think. But that's not what he wanted.

In fact, he wanted anything else than to be alone. But there was only one person he wanted to talk to right now, and he was too much of a chicken to even knock on her door. He cursed silently, thinking that he was being an idiot and that he should walk away before he ended up making a fool of himself, or, worse, making her even angrier than she already was.

He had a feeling that Hermione had known what he was up to as his friend had given him a long, warning look before they had parted ways, but she hadn't tried to stop him. Maybe she knew that Harry had to have closure; that he couldn't leave forever without making things right between the two of them. He knew he shouldn't care so much – after all, she was a figure of the past, someone that, in his time, had been dead for thousands of years. But here, she wasn't just a person of legend. She was more than that, so much more. And despite everything that Hermione had said, and what the legends said about her, Harry wasn't prepared to give her up as a lost cause.

Taking a deep breath, Harry told himself to stop being such a baby. He had just helped defeat Nimueh, high priestess of the Old Religion, but he couldn't work up the guts to  _talk_  to a girl? He grimaced at how pathetic that sounded. Yep, that pretty much summed it up. He squinted his eyes shut, let out the breath, and knocked on her door.

The second he did, he regretted it. How stupid could he be? The sun was just now beginning to rise; she would be asleep. What was he thinking, coming here? She was probably still angry at him for so obviously lying to her. Maybe if he started to run, he could be around the corner and out of sight by the time she opened the door...

_Click._

Too late. He groaned inwardly, his stomach tying itself in knot after stinking knot. His heart started thudding as the door swung open, revealing  _her._  Dressed in a cream nightdress, a dark purple robe over the material that hung loosely from her body. Black hair, slightly mussed, framed that heart-shaped face, setting off the beauty of her perfect porcelain skin in the flickering candelabras lining the walls. Her gray eyes were tired and confused, dark circles under them, but somehow they only served to make her more breathtaking. Her perfect, soft lips (just looking at them, he could feel the gentle brush of her mouth against his and his heart took to doing a frantic jig as if it had just been hit with the  _Tarantellegra_ curse) were parted just lightly as she stared at him in surprise.

"Harry." Her melodious voice was cold and Harry couldn't blame her. She stood imposingly in her doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed defiantly across her chest and eyebrows frowning in disapproval. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be ignoring the danger your friends are in and getting on with your happy life?"

Harry cleared his throat.  _Well, this is going about as well as I expected_ , he thought. Somehow, that realization didn't make him feel any better. "Uh..." he stammered stupidly, "could I...come in? If someone were to see me standing at your doorway, they could get the wrong impression and I'd get into trouble..." He trailed off, feeling like a complete fool.

Apparently Morgana was thinking along the same lines as she raised one pencil-thin eyebrow and said haughtily, "I fail to see the problem." But she opened her door wider and let Harry in anyway. He slid through the door and stood awkwardly as she closed it behind them, now leaning her back against the door and staring at him expectantly. "Well?" she snapped, the frustration and worry still evident in her eyes and voice.

Harry cleared his throat. "I...just thought I would let you know that Merlin and Arthur are okay," he said, wanting to set her mind at ease.

Harry could tell that Morgana wanted to keep up her angry and uncaring facade, but the news that her friends were alive clearly made her irritation melt into relief. "Thank God," she breathed. "How do you know?"

Harry swung his left hand out and let it slap against the side of his leg, nervous. He knew that what he was about to tell Morgana was more than likely going to set her off again. She was still waiting, so Harry replied, "You...er...were right, Morgana. They  _were_  in danger. We knew that they were, at least had a pretty good idea of what was going on, before you came to get us, but we didn't want to let you know because we  _knew_  you'd want to come along, and it was going to be dangerous and we couldn't risk putting you in that kind of trouble, I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you, but we thought you'd be safer that way..." He said all this very fast, not meeting her eyes. It wasn't the  _complete_ truth, considering their main motivation for not telling her was because Hermione didn't trust her, but Morgana didn't need to know that.

He felt her eyes boring into him and he looked up, surprised to see that amongst the frustration, there lingered a hint of a smile. "You...were worried about me?" she asked softly.

Harry cleared his throat, beginning to like where this was going. "We all were," he admitted. Well, he and Ron had been, at least. "We didn't want anything happening to you."

Morgana rolled her eyes and irritation flickered across her beautiful face again. Harry fought the urge to take a few steps back.  _I can't show that I'm intimidated,_  he thought, then gulped.  _But what if she can SMELL my fear?_  It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but the unhappiness she was displaying rather unnerved him. "You shouldn't have been," she fumed. "I'm a big girl, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I've bested Arthur in a couple sword fights before; I can certainly handle danger. You had no right to lie to me, Harry Potter!" Her voice was angry but also resigned to the fact that every male she would ever come in contact with would try to coddle her and shield her when she was independent and wanted to take care of herself.

"I'm sorry," he said, his brain whirring at a hundred miles an hour as an idea formed in his mind. He knew that Hermione wouldn't approve, but they'd more than likely already screwed up the past and future beyond repair, and they were going to leave in less than an hour, never to return. Morgana needed  _someone_  who understood at least a little that she was going through. Coming to a decision, his heart fluttering nervously, Harry said, "The main reason we didn't let you know, Morgana, was because it was a magical threat. And you don't know magic..." He breathed deeply. There was no turning back now. "But I do."

* * *

Merlin stood uncomfortably in Arthur's doorway as Arthur gaped at him. "Merlin!" Arthur repeated, sounding surprised, relieved, and (as he always did when addressing his servant) a bit annoyed. "What are you doing here?''

Merlin chuckled, his right hand unconsciously clutching his wound as if trying to protect it from harm. "I thought you wanted to talk with me."

Arthur couldn't believe what a complete  _idiot_ Merlin was. He had distinctly told Harry, Ron, and Hermione that Merlin was to be well before they had their talk. Heaven forbid they be in the middle of an important conversation and Merlin pass out in the middle of it. By the young man's pallid complexion and the thin sheen of sweat that glossed over his face, coupled with the way he kept his hand over the wound protectively, showed that he was  _anything_  but recovered. Leave it to Merlin to start running around the castle right after regaining consciousness.

Glaring at Merlin, trying his best to keep the relief that Merlin was at least awake and definitely  _not_  dead, Arthur looked the servant up and down and said, "You weren't supposed to come speak to me until you were well, Merlin." He gestured at Merlin, who was trying his best to make it look like he was not supporting himself with the door frame. "Are you well,  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin made a pathetic attempt at one of his signature goofy grins that made Arthur wonder if the powerful sorcerer he had witnessed in the cave hadn't been someone who simply  _looked_  like Merlin. Rolling his eyes – that seemed to be something that a person couldn't spend five minutes around Merlin without doing; if Arthur wound up with permanent eye damage from all the eye-rolling, Merlin would certainly have hell to pay – he grasped Merlin's arm in his strong hand, surprised at just how thin and frail it felt. He guided Merlin over to his table and gently pushed him into a chair before opting to sit in one right beside Merlin instead of across the table. He felt a need to be close to his friend, if only to assure himself that Merlin really  _was_  there.

"Well, Merlin, you haven't answered my question," Arthur said in a falsely cheery voice, still shaken up by how pale, weak, and helpless Merlin looked. It scared him more than he liked to admit, especially after seeing how strong Merlin had been in the cave when performing magic. It was a frightening prospect to see someone that powerful – he still choked over using the words "Merlin" and "powerful" in the same sentence, even in his mind – reduced to someone this helpless…It was more than a bit shaking for the prince. "Are you well?"

Merlin shrugged self-consciously, wincing as he did so. Arthur fought the urge to smack Merlin on the back of the head for his sheer stupidity. "I had to talk to you," Merlin said simply, raising his blue eyes to meet Arthur's. "As soon as possible. Just in case…" He trailed off, biting his lower lip and looking as if he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

Arthur felt a wave of dread wash over him. What was Merlin talking about? In case of what? He was going to be fine; he was sitting here, albeit a bit pale and pathetic looking, but this  _was_  Merlin he was talking about, and the man was pale and pathetic to begin with. Arthur felt that tickle of fear grow when he watched Merlin fiddle with the hem of his jacket, refusing to meet his master's eyes.

"Merlin." Merlin looked up, eyes filled with regret. "What are you talking about? Just in case what? You're going to be okay. You're already on your way to recovery."

Merlin sighed and Arthur felt the worry grow tenfold. "Arthur, there's a lot to tell you," his servant said, "and I have to meet Ron, Harry, and Hermione in an hour."

Arthur hadn't expected this; he wanted to shake Merlin until the stubborn idiot told him what he had been talking about before. He had this gnawing feeling that there was something the warlock wasn't telling him and he was desperate to know what it was, because whatever Merlin was keeping from him, it was dreadfully important. Arthur couldn't tell how he knew. He just…knew.

Sighing, he knew that it wouldn't improve Merlin's condition if he shook the manservant, so he let out an exaggerated sigh and waving a dismissive hand in surrender, ordered, "Start at the beginning."

* * *

Morgana stared at Harry, sure she had heard him wrong. He had magic? Even more than that, he had just admitted to the King's ward that he possessed magic? He either had a lot of faith in her or was the dumbest person she had ever encountered (and she had met a  _lot_  of idiots in her time). Studying his thin face, those expressive and intelligent green eyes, and that thin, lightening shaped scar, she knew that this wasn't the face of a dumb person. It was the face of a boy that cared, someone who wanted to make a difference in the world, someone who would give up everything for those he cared about…

Someone that reminded her eerily of herself.

Her voice faltering slightly, she whispered (for one always spoke of magic in whispers whilst in Camelot), "You have _magic_?"

Harry nodded. "I didn't want to tell you before, but I didn't know how you'd react."

Morgana thought about this for a moment. Yes. It made sense. She had felt some sort of power, some sort of connection when she had first seen Harry. There was something about him that was mysterious and wonderful, something that she hadn't been able to put her finger on but wanted to understand more than anything else in the world. And finally, she did.

Suddenly eager to learn more, she said, "Show me."

Harry looked startled and a bit unnerved. "What?"

Morgana laughed quietly, enjoying the look of bewilderment on the wizard's face – he deserved it for not telling her earlier. "Magic," she breathed. "Can you show me?"

Harry grimaced and looked over his shoulder, although all that lay behind him was Morgana's bed, her changing screen, and a window that looked out over a stunning view of the Darkling Woods. They were alone. "Here?" he asked. "But if I get caught…" He let the sentence hang in the air, knowing very well that he would not be caught.

Morgana smiled patronizingly, "Then I will have to think up a way to help you escape from our dungeons," she answered teasingly. "It's not that hard – almost everyone escapes from our dungeons. Some of the guards have told Uther that we need to do some renovations if we actually want to keep people  _in_ , but of course he never listens to anyone."

Smiling in return, Harry withdrew his wand, which Morgana eyed with interest. " _Avis_ ," he said, pointing the wand a little to the left of Morgana, who gasped in delight when three little bluebirds flittered into existence from the tip of the wand.

"They're so cute!" she giggled, reaching out to touch one, caressing its little head with her delicate, pale fingers and the bird tittered with delight. As Harry walked over to the window and opened it, allowing the conjured birds to flutter out of the room when they wanted, Morgana frowned thoughtfully. "If Uther saw something like this, he would have you executed," she mused. "Yet the beauty, the stunning purity of this…It's simply incredible." She shook her head. "It must be sad to be that bitter, to look at something so wonderful and only see evil, to look at something so exquisite and only register hate."

Harry nodded distractedly. He noticed that they had moved a bit closer and his heart, which had finally calmed down somewhat, started back its rabid charge, thudding against his ribcage like a blast-ended screwt stupidly bashing itself into a wall. Morgana slowly, hesitantly, took Harry's hand and he swallowed, looking into her expressive, gorgeous gray eyes.  _She really was beautiful…_

"Harry," the girl said, stepping closer, "since you have magic, can you tell me… is that what these nightmares are? Do  _I_  have magic? Please, I need to know."

* * *

Merlin had been talking for nearly forty-five minutes, explaining to Arthur how he had come to Camelot on his mother's insistence to seek out Gaius as a mentor because he could not fit in while living in Ealdor. He told Arthur about how he had been called by a dragon that lived in a cave beneath the castle (which had shocked Arthur – he was living on top of a bloody  _dragon_?), who had told him that his destiny was to protect Arthur, the "once and future king," and prepare him to become the king that would bring magic back to Camelot and unite the land of Albion, at which point Arthur had interrupted, much to Merlin's annoyance – the pain in his chest grew steadily worse and he knew he was getting weaker by the second; he had really hoped to spit it all out but he should have known that Arthur would have lots of questions – and comments).

"Protect me?" Arthur blanched, eyes wide. "You've been  _protecting_  me? Like when?"

Merlin had rolled his eyes, covering a wince as he felt a sharp spasm shoot through his torso. "Let's see… how about tonight, when I shielded you from Nimueh and Voldemort? Of course, you knew I saved you from the old woman impersonating Lady Helen, that's why I now have the lovely job of cleaning up after your royal messiness, but you probably didn't realize that I used magic to save you then. I was the one who revealed the snakes in Valiant's shield when he tried to kill you, I made the fire that helped destroy the Avank, I sent the light to guide you in the caves when you were on the quest to get the flower to save me –"

Arthur had stared at him, a mixture of awe and confusion in his eyes. "But…you were sick," he protested. "Unconscious, weak, and delirious – that's what Gaius said. You were so weak…how did you do that?"

Merlin had shrugged. "I don't know. But Arthur, you should know – there are prophecies about you being the once and future king, but the Druids have prophecies about me."

Arthur had looked at his friend in interested. "The Druids? Like the boy, Mordred, we saved?"

Merlin had fought back nausea, remembering the other prophecies that had almost hindered Merlin from coming to the child's aid – the prophecies that stated Mordred would be the one to ultimately kill Arthur. He had forced the horrible thought out of his mind and nodded, answering blandly, "Yes. In their prophecies, I am Emrys, and I am destined to become the most powerful warlock of all time." He paused. "In fact, I – as well as you, actually – go down in history and people even as far as thousands of years in the future know who we are."

Arthur had given him a funny look. "And how,  _Mer_ lin," he had asked, sounding much more like his normally pratty self, "would you know that?"

This is the question that Merlin was now faced with, his breathing getting heavier along with his eyelids, wanting nothing more than to give in to sleep and be free from the pain of the wound. He knew that Arthur was going to react badly when he found out that Merlin was still dying and that instead of immediately getting treatment, he was here talking to Arthur, but Merlin had had to talk to him. He sighed. "Because Ron, Harry, and Hermione told me." Arthur raised an eyebrow but didn't speak, a sign for Merlin to continue. "They're…from the future?" he finished hesitantly, wondering how much convincing he was going to have to do to get Arthur to believe him so that they could move on to more pressing issues (issues that he figured would probably get him yelled at for being so negligent when it came to his own health).

To his great surprise, Arthur didn't argue, he simply rubbed his chin thoughtfully, chuckling. "I should have known…I  _knew_  there was something off about the lot of them…"

Merlin stared. "You believe me?" Arthur nodded. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

Arthur paused, grinned deviously, and responded, "That's not a fair question, Merlin. Yes, I think you're crazy, but for other reasons entirely." Merlin laughed, not even pretending to be offended.  _This is the way it should be between us._  "After everything I've witnessed in the past twelve hours, I'd say that bloody well anything is possible. Besides, you've been so open and honest with me, Merlin. You've told me things that would see you executed."

Merlin felt his heart tighten momentarily, although he wasn't sure if it was from the sudden surge of fear that bolted through him or the wound. "You're not going to…?" he trailed off, knowing that he was asking too much of the prince.

Arthur looked offended, even a bit angry. "You really are a complete idiot,  _Mer_ lin. Of course I'm not going to hand you into my father. After everything you've told me that you've done for me…if anything, I should be thanking you."

Merlin grinned, setting aside his own urgency for a second to see Arthur squirm. "So why don't you?" he asked, his eyes wide and oh-so-innocent.

Arthur regarded him for a second. "Why don't I what?"

"Thank me."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "I just did," he responded.

Merlin laughed. "No, you didn't. You told me that you  _should_  say thank you. You never actually did."

Arthur fixed Merlin with a dangerous glare. "Merlin?"

Merlin chuckled, getting the point. "Shut. Up."

Then a sharp spasm of pain overtook him, blinding him for several seconds. He felt himself falling, heard a shout, and then…nothing.


	27. The First Goodbyes

Harry tried to calm his racing heart as he struggled to regain control over his emotions and decide how to respond to Morgana. He silently cursed himself; he should have known that if he revealed his magic, this would happen! He couldn't believe that he had put himself into this position, but he hadn't wanted Morgana to feel so alone. He winced inwardly as he thought that he just might have told Morgana about his magic for his own selfish reasons – because he didn't want her to be mad at him anymore.

He could feel her gorgeous gray eyes on him and the gentle caress of her smooth, warm hand in his. He wanted to tell her the truth, that yes, she had magic, but she could harness it and use it for good. Something was stopping him, though, hindering the words as they so desperately tried to leave his mouth. He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes and once again he cursed himself for being stupid enough to come visit her in the first place, for being stupid enough to tell her the truth, and being stupid enough to care.

He knew what was stopping him. If he directly interfered with the past, telling Morgana that she had magic, then he could very well ruin the past and future they were trying to save. He knew that they had probably already messed it up enough, but this... This was something different entirely. Morgana, or Morgan Le Fay as she came to be known throughout the thousands of years after her time, was a key figure in Arthurian legend and in the past of wizard-kind. As much pain and suffering her inevitable reign of terror caused, she was essential to the flow of time, and by telling her the truth, maybe even altering her future, he could be changing all of their futures, for better or for worse, he had no idea.

He couldn't tell her.

But then again...

How could someone this caring, with such a big heart and pure intentions, ever become the bitter, evil, angry witch of the legends, the sorceress who would ultimately be the end of the great wizard Merlin? He couldn't see it in her; not in those eyes that searched his, so desperately needing to hear the truth, yearning for some facet of security to cling onto; not in the heart that was reaching out to his...

What if this was the pivotal moment? What if what he did here decided Morgana's fate, whether she became good or evil? If he lied and told her she didn't have magic, she would continue to be scared, and when she did find out she possessed it, she would become bitter and angry at all the lies. But if he told her... She could learn to harness her powers for good, couldn't she? He could help her avoid the dark fate of becoming the evil witch. _He could save her._

But could he do that? Could he potentially sacrifice the future for her soul? He could, after all, be wrong, and her turn to darkness could be set in stone where nothing that he told her right now could change what would become of her humanity. There was the possibility, though, that she would really take his words to heart and that he could prevent her from ever becoming the dreaded Morgan Le Fay. She tightened her grip on his hand and he choked back tears.

Why did he have to care so much?

He sighed, looked into her eyes, and into his own heart, and knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Morgana... I don't know for  _sure_  if you have magic, but what I do know is this: if you do – and I will admit, it is possible – you have to learn to control it and to use it for good. So many people have been corrupted by magic and—" his voice broke, "—I would be devastated if that happened to you."

Morgana studied him intently, tears brimming in her own eyes. "I do have magic, don't I?" she whispered. "You think so too."

Harry smiled weakly. "Yes."

She bit her lip. "Can you teach me?" she asked. "How to control it; how to use it for good?"

Harry felt a deep pang in his heart as he was forced to respond, "I'm sorry, Morgana. I... can't stay. I have to be going home very soon. When I said that Merlin and Arthur are okay... Well, Merlin's not. Not really."

Morgana sucked in a breath. "What happened?"

"He has been cursed, and he will die without treatment. Morgana, I know you probably won't believe me, but..." He hesitated. He had told her this much; there was no reason he couldn't tell her any more. "Ron and Hermione and I...we're from the future. We got to a school for magic called Hogwarts and we were taken into the past by Voldemort, a man who hates me and wants me dead. We have found out how to get back to the future, and we have to take Merlin with us, at least for a little while. The only way he can be saved is if a phoenix cries upon his wound, and the only phoenix we know of belongs to our headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, in the future. We cannot stay in the past any longer."

He had expected Morgana to grow angry, to accuse him of lying, but instead she allowed several tears to slip through her defenses. "I-I'll never see you again?" she breathed. "But..."

Harry gripped her hand tighter and, on sudden inspiration, drew her closer and wrapped both arms around her waist, pressing his lips to hers, lightly at first, and then with more urgency as she returned the embrace and kiss.

He had never felt anything like it. The soft feel of her lips against his, the pure euphoria at being in the arms of such a beautiful angel, the feel of her body pressed against his as they stood together, locked in an embrace that he would have loved to have gone on forever.

* * *

Arthur felt his panic return full-force as Merlin let out a cry of pain, clutched his chest, and fell to the floor. He threw himself out of his chair and dove to Merlin's side, catching the unconscious servant before his head hit the hard stone floor. Gently, he lay his friend on the ground, feeling for a pulse and relieved when he felt one, albeit very weak. "Merlin?"

He leaned forward and gently patted Merlin's thin face, trying to bring him round. Merlin groaned and his eyelids fluttered, widening when they saw his master looming over him, worry running rampant on his face. He tried to push himself up, crying out in agony as his wound was jarred and fresh blood spilled out and onto his shirt. Arthur forced himself to calm down; he couldn't lose control. He had to be there for Merlin. After everything that Merlin had done for him... He felt a lump form in his throat as he thought about everything that Merlin had revealed to him, he didn't think he would ever be able to thank the warlock enough – not that he would ever tell Merlin that.

"Merlin, lie still," he ordered. "What's wrong?"

Merlin gasped out, "I – I'm sorry Art..ur... I had to... talk to... you." He coughed, groaning in pain and convulsing slightly as the cursed injury grew worse rapidly. "I have to go... with Harry... to Hog...warts... there is a phoenix that can heal... me."

Arthur felt his heart constrict. "What do you mean?" he whispered, the words having to fight against that lump to get out of his throat.

Merlin gave his master a sad smile even as he convulsed again, "I...I'm dying, Arthur... But if we get... to Hogwarts in time..." he rasped, fighting for every breath, "...I'll be fine... Dragon... held off the effects but... time is running out." He chuckled but the sound came out as more of a groan. "Just my luck."

Arthur couldn't believe Merlin. Of all the stupid, idiotic things that Merlin had done, this topped them all. He was  _dying_? And yet he insisted on talking to Arthur instead of leaving with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as soon as he could? He felt tears well up in his eyes as the full impact of Merlin's words hit him.  _Merlin is_ dying. He shoved back his anger at the selfless servant. He couldn't afford to focus on that; he had to get Merlin to Harry and the others. "What do I need to do? Where do you need to go?" he asked urgently.

Merlin's eyes had glazed over and were unfocused, causing Arthur's stomach to do another flip of fear. "Merlin?  _Merlin!_ " he snapped, slapping the man's cheek, rousing him again.

Merlin glared blearily up at him. "Polish... your own armor," he muttered sleepily, trying to drift off again.

Ignoring the ominous feeling that if Merlin didn't get help very soon, he'd be dead, Arthur gently scooped Merlin into his arms, standing up and ready to carry his sick friend to help. "Oh no you don't. Come on, Merlin. Where are they at, Merlin? Harry and the others? We need to get you to them."

"...We didn't think... I would get worse... this soon..." Merlin gasped. "Harry... Morgana. Ron, Hermione... Gaius." His eyes rolled back into his head as he lost consciousness.

This time Arthur didn't even take the time to try and wake Merlin. Instead, praying that he had correctly interpreted the others' whereabouts, he raced out of his chambers, limp Merlin in his arms, wondering vaguely what Harry was doing in Morgana's chambers.

* * *

All too soon, Harry reluctantly broke their kiss, stepping back a pace but still holding tightly to Morgana's slender waist. His eyes were locked on hers and he felt a longing in his heart, his very soul, to hold her closely and never let her go. He had never felt this way about anyone before, and he never wanted to feel like this about anyone else – only Morgana. He knew it could not last, though, especially as he had to meet Hermione, Ron, and Merlin in their guest chambers in less than an hour. Their time together was coming to an end, forever. He was about to go back to a time and a place where Morgana was but a mere memory, a thing of the past.

Morgana stared at him, tears freely sliding down her face. Harry reached out with one hand and gently wiped them off, caressing her cheek as he did so. "Harry," she choked, "I don't want you to go."

Harry shook his head. "I have no choice."

"Then let me go with you. I can learn how to control my magic at this school, we can be together, and I can do something with my life. I have nothing left for me here; Uther would kill me as soon as look at me if he knew..."

Oh, how tempting that was. Harry wished that he could bring Morgana to the future, to Hogwarts, with him, but he knew that could never be. They were separated by the strongest, most impenetrable barrier known to man – time. They could never truly be together because they should have never met, should have never made contact. This was wrong, this was all wrong; he was messing with the past, present, and future – yet it felt so right.

Blinking back tears, he replied, "I'm sorry, Morgana. You belong here, in your time. Just...just remember. Your magic can be used for good. And know... I will never regret meeting you." He squeezed her hand, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and broke away from her embrace, no matter how much he wanted to melt in her arms and stay there forever.

He could feel her eyes, hurt, longing, and maybe just a bit angry, on him as he left her room, the pain in his heart almost too much to bear. As he stepped out of the door, he nearly collided with Arthur, who had been running from the direction of his own chambers, a limp body clutched in his arms. All of his worries about Morgana faded for the time being as his heart dropped to his feet. "Arthur, what happened?"

* * *

Morgana watched as Harry left, emotions boiling inside of her. He was leaving. Forever.

She felt a cold, unsettling feeling wash through her being, threatening to swallow her whole. She was angry, there was no denying it. How dare he befriend her, make her fall for him, and then  _leave_  her here, with more questions than answers and a passionate kiss that still made her heart thud frantically just thinking about it? She sunk into her chair, tears flowing freely down her face. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known not to trust him, and yet, he had risked everything for her, telling her that he had magic and setting her mind at rest, knowing that there was someone else that understood what she was going through.

But what good was having someone understand, if that someone lived thousands of years in the future? She still found it hard to believe that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were really from a magical school in the future, and she wondered briefly if it had all been a lie, if Harry was, even now, laughing at how gullible she had been, pleading for him to take her to the future with him.

It didn't take her long to shrug off that thought, however. Despite how upset she was at being cared for and then left behind, she knew somewhere deep inside of her that Harry had been telling the truth. He understood her more than anyone she knew and he had done all that he could to help her gain knowledge about her own powers, urging her to use them for good. And it wasn't as if he was just leaving to spite her. He was returning to his time to save Merlin, a feat that Morgana found she just couldn't be angry at Harry for. After all, their relationship had begun after they had both had similar dreams about Arthur's clumsy manservant, and they had both gone to the extreme to save him.

She let out a huff of air, confused. She was still furious at Harry, she knew that. She didn't know if she could ever truly forgive him for refusing to let her come along, no matter how sensible it might have been. At the same time, she also commended him for his loyalty to Merlin, going to such lengths to save him. She just wasn't sure how she felt, but she felt a slight blush tinge her cheeks as her lips tingled as if remembering the bliss of that last kiss. Her heart ached and she realized that maybe she wasn't as mad as she would like to think. Mostly, she was hurt, afraid, and lonely.

And then there was someone else that was worrying her, fighting Harry for the position at the forefront of her mind, slowly winning over as she began to let her thoughts drift.

Merlin. She really hoped he would be okay. She liked him; he was a good friend and good for Arthur as well – he helped keep that prat's priorities straight most of the time. He had been there for Arthur when no one else had, and the two of them had risked so much for one another. Her train of thought shifting from the swirling myriad of emotions she felt for Harry to thoughts of Merlin and Arthur, she hoped beyond hope that Merlin would survive.

Although Arthur refused to admit it, it was painfully obvious that he saw Merlin as a friend and that the servant was a vital part of the prince's life. They were there for each other, through their squabbles and sarcasm, through the good times and the hard times, and she knew that it would positively  _kill_  Arthur if Merlin were to die. That boy had a way of working his way into people's hearts with those big blue eyes, quirky personality, klutzy ways, and goofy smile, and once there, he refused to leave...

Kind of like another person she knew. Except he had wormed his way into her heart with his understanding, kind words, and those piercing green eyes...

She swore. She was going in circles here, her mind refusing to shut down and going back and forth from trying to figure out what she was feeling for Harry to her anxiety for Merlin, and, by extension, Arthur.

_Harry... Merlin... Harry... Merlin..._

At the very least, she wished her mind decide what emotion it wanted to dwell on, instead of churning sickeningly between confusion and worry. She let out a small groan. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Arthur, eyes wide and worried, motioned for Harry to follow him as they rushed through the corridors. "He passed out," Arthur supplied unhelpfully. Harry could feel the prince's glare boring into him as he accused, "I told you three to take care of him, to make sure he was well before we had our talk. Yet he comes to me and he's  _dying_?" The anger and betrayal was livid in his voice as the they hurried toward Gaius's chambers, where Ron and Hermione should still have been. They were rushing to Gaius's chambers, assuming that Ron and Hermione were still there since it wasn't the time they had agreed on meeting in the guest chambers yet.

Harry felt guilty. He had tried to convince Merlin that he could talk to Arthur  _after_ he had been healed, but Merlin had been adamant that he explain everything to his master now, just in case something went wrong and he didn't make it through. He didn't want Arthur to have to live with the doubt, worry, and pain of wondering what Merlin  _really_  had been. Harry told Arthur as much and the prince shook his head disbelievingly. "That idiot put his life in mortal danger for my peace of mind?" he snapped incredulously. Harry winced, noting how foolish it sounded. "You could have stopped him, could have forced him to go with you then and there! His life is more important than what I think about him!"

Harry sighed. "Arthur, he wouldn't budge. He's the only one with the knowledge and power to take us to Hogwarts. If he refused to do the spell, we wouldn't have gone anywhere. He was worried about you, and he didn't want you to think that he would ever betray you. You're his friend, Arthur, and he cares about you more than his own life."

By this time, they had reached Gaius's chambers, and they could here soft voiced from inside. Arthur swallowed heavily, glancing down at Merlin, who still lay limp and breathing shallowly in his arms. Without wasting another moment, they burst into the physician's chambers without knocking, causing the occupants, two grim-faced young magicians and Gaius, his face heavy with concern, to jump at the sudden intrusion. Three pairs of eyes fell on the unconscious form in Arthur's arms, until a worried call came from the old man sitting in one of the rickety old chairs, his aged eyes alarmed as he took in the sight of his ward.

"Merlin!" Gaius cried, leaping to his feet with a speed that Arthur would have never thought possible. He hurried over to the prince and his servant, whom Arthur had just laid down on the patient bed. Merlin's breathing was so shallow that at first glance it looked as if he were not breathing at all. His face was pale and drawn, and the wound on his chest was swollen and bright red, the dark magic infecting it wreaking havoc in the servant's frail body.

"What happened?" Hermione squeaked, her eyes filled with horror. "I thought we had more time!"

"Well, apparently you didn't!" Arthur yelled, a bit more angrily than he'd meant to. "This never would have happened if you had made him go with you as soon as he learned the spell! He didn't need to talk to me, he needed to get treated!"

"I told you," Harry begun, but Gaius cut him off.

"Quiet," the old man hissed, placing a hand on Merlin's forehead, wincing at how clammy it was. "Now is not the time. Ron and Hermione have explained the situation to me, and as much as I dislike the idea of Merlin gallivanting off into the distant future, it's the only way he's going to survive this. We need to wake him up and hope that he is going to be strong enough to perform the enchantment to take you back."

All four lowered their eyes, ashamed of arguing when they should have been acting. Arthur leaned over Merlin and shook his shoulder, gritting his teeth when Merlin whimpered in pain. "Come on, you lazy idiot," he goaded affectionately. "You need to wake up."

* * *

Merlin squinted his eyes open, meeting Arthur's worried expression. He wasn't sure what was going on anymore. He had been floating in and out of awareness for what seemed like hours now, only partially connection with the world around him. He had to fight past the pain and the fog, though. There was something he needed to do, something important. He thought about it for a moment, gasping when he remembered. The spell – they needed to get to Hogwarts.

He allowed his magic to fill him up, doing his best to ignore the pain radiating from the wound on his chest and the weakness that tugged on every inch of his battered body. With fierce determination and a surge of his magic, he sat up. "It's time to go, isn't it?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Arthur nodded and Merlin couldn't work out why his master looked so emotional. Arthur's feelings were never put on display. He frowned. "Arthur. It's going to be fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course it is,  _Mer_ lin. Because I forbid you to let anything further happen to you, and you are to return to Camelot as soon as you can, and when you do, you will be  _completely_  healed, is that understood?" By the look in Arthur's eyes, Merlin knew that they both realized how unrealistic the prince's words were, but they somehow eased both of their minds for the time being.

Merlin gave his friend a smile. "Thanks for not killing me for talking to you first."

Arthur glowered. "Oh, you just wait,  _Mer_ lin. When you get back from this Hogwarts place, there will be  _hell_  to pay. And that's not even taking into account the fact that you  _lied_  to me about your magic all this time..."

Merlin laughed, but the pain cut him off. He smiled at Arthur. "I'll see you soon, Arthur. Try not to be a prat while I'm gone." He locked eyes with Gaius. "I'll be back."

Gaius gave his ward a gentle hug and even that caused pain to flare through the warlock's body, but Merlin found he didn't mind. "You'd better," Gaius replied, with more bravado than he felt.

Arthur turned to the three Hogwarts students. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said. He locked eyes with each of them in turn. "And I'd like to say thank you – the three of you –" he looked at Hermione the longest, "–have taught me much during your time here. You have shown me that not all magic is evil, and have been valuable friends to me. I will never forget you, any of you."

"Same here," Harry smiled, nodding at the prince.

Hermione blushed. "I have to say, you're a lot more pleasant to be around than you were when we first met."

Arthur grinned, taking her hand and kissing it like he had done when he had introduced himself. "My lady."

Hermione blushed even more and Ron scowled. "Yeah, yeah, we've all learned stuff. Can we get a move on, I think Merlin's about to pass out again."

Merlin smiled, his magic still fueling his temporary strength. "No, I'm good," he teased, knowing that Ron was wanting to put a stop to whatever it was going on between Arthur and Hermione.

Ron scowled and turned to the prince. "Well, it was nice meeting you, now let's go."

Arthur laughed and shook his head before clasping Merlin gently but firmly on his thin shoulder. "I meant what I said. That spell had better be a two-way ticket, and you'd better return to Camelot fully healed. After all, I can't be bothered with trying to find a new servant." Merlin gave him a nod, the undercurrent of friendship and emotion in the words almost overwhelming him.

"I will." Arthur nodded and stepped back, ready to let Merlin do his thing, as the warlock was growing paler by the minute as his last reserves of strength began to fade. Ron, Harry, and Hermione gathered around Merlin, preparing to be taken back to Hogwarts with the spell the dragon had given him.

Hermione looked a little nervous. "Before we go – we're going to have to try and keep Merlin out of sight. If it got around Hogwarts that  _the_  Merlin was in the castle, there would more than likely be chaos."

Harry shook his head. "You worry too much, Hermione. We'll be fine; I'd say we'll pop right back where we came from – the Room of Requirement."

Ron smiled encouragingly at Merlin. "Are you ready?"

Merlin nodded, closing his eyes and summoning all of his remaining strength and magic, before opening them again, this time burning with a fiery gold and speaking the spell given to him by the Great Dragon. " _Dewch i mi, y niwl amser, yn agor ei drysau ac yn ein tywys trwy'r deyrnas amser lle mae'r tri gŵr doeth ddaeth i Hogwarts, fynd â ni yno_ _._ " It was a long and complicated spell, but it rolled off of Merlin's tongue effortlessly, and by the time he had said the last syllable, no trace of the four wizards remained, leaving a concerned Gaius and a reeling Arthur alone in the court physician's chambers.

Merlin was gone. And now all they could do was hope that the warlock would be able to find his way back as well.


	28. Through the Mist

"Are you sure it is wise, sir, not alerting their guardians?" the greasy-haired man asked of his superior, black eyes glinting and long robes draped over his thin body, making him look like an overgrown bat. "Potter and his friends have been missing for three days now. Not a sign of them anywhere."

The old man standing beside Severus Snape was none other than Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was a tall, thin man with a rather old, wrinkled face and long white hair and matching beard. He was dressed in periwinkle colored robes and was murmuring to Professor Snape on his right, and, on his left, Professor Minerva McGonagall. "Yes they have," the old wizard replied somberly, while his baby blue eyes danced mischievously behind his silver half-moon spectacles.

Professor McGonagall, her hair tied back, as usual, in a tight brown bun, frowned – something all of her students trembled when she did because they  _knew_  she meant business – but Professor Dumbledore just smiled knowingly. "Are you not worried, Albus?" Professor McGonagall queried, her own brow furrowed in concern. "Potter, Weasley, and Granger have been known to get into mischief before, but to completely vanish from Hogwarts… it's eerie, and the students are starting to talk, besides. They know something is up."

Professor Dumbledore shook his head slightly, still smiling. "I cannot say that I  _know_ where those three are at," he said, "but there is no need to get their families – well, Mr. Weasley's and Ms. Granger's anyway – families worried just yet. I may not know exactly what is going on here, Minerva, Severus, but I do have some knowledge and I do not believe that they are in any immediate danger and that what they are doing is extremely important." With that, he gave the head of Gryffindor house a wide smile and pointed his wand at his throat. " _Sonorous._ " His voice was immediately amplified so that the whole school, gathered around the four house tables in the Great Hall, could hear him.

"Before we begin our dinner, I would like to say a few words," the headmaster began, and instantly the hall became quiet. Rumors about Harry, Ron, and Hermione's disappearance had been circulating through the school the way only gossip in the mouths of teenagers could and everyone was hoping that this was the matter that Professor Dumbledore was about to address. They were not disappointed because the professor continued immediately, saying, "I know that most of you have not failed to notice that we are missing three of our student body here at Hogwarts, and have been for the past couple of days."

From someone at the Slytherin table came a bitter chuckle, "Yeah, good riddance."

Somehow, one of the Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom, heard Draco Malfoy's taunt and stood up indignantly. "Shove off, Malfoy!" he yelled. After being in Dumbledore's Army with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and some others last year and sneaking into the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius Black, Neville, a once hopeless lad with a penchant for failure, had become much braver and even more loyal than he already had been.

Malfoy, in turn, rose from his seat, prepared to hurl some sort of nasty insult across the hall in retaliation, but Dumbledore merely held up one hand and they both sat down moodily, glaring at each other. "Thank you," the headmaster said calmly, meeting Neville's gaze for a fraction of a second and giving the boy a quick wink of approval (to which Neville blushed grandly). "I would like to assure you that whilst their disappearance is unusual, that there is nothing to worry about. In these dark times, the only true light we have is hope. We must remain positive and believe that everything will turn out –"

_Bang!_

The entire population of the Great Hall – students, teachers, even the occasional ghost wafting by – jumped collectively as there was a crash and flash that rent the solemn silence in the hall, accompanied by a thick mist. The smoky haze quickly cleared, revealing the three missing students in question as well as another, unfamiliar young man – limp and seemingly lifeless in Hermione Granger's arms.

* * *

Merlin had heard Hermione's warning that they must try to remain unseen by the people populating the castle, but he had no idea how to direct  _where_  in Hogwarts they would turn up after performing the spell. He did have to scoff at his luck, however, when he got a brief glance of the five crowded tables in the expansive room he had magicked them to – a room that, in his exhaustion and possible delirium, seemed to have no ceiling but opened up to the night sky. He really did have the most rotten luck sometimes.

Not a moment after he had registered all of this, his head began to swim at a sickening rate and he felt his stomach churn. The pain in his chest screamed to a crescendo and he gave a silent yell as it became too much for him to bear.

He had overdone it. He had waited too long to try and perform the enchantment and now he was paying the price for it. The spell had taken all of his meager reserves of energy and life and sapped them right out of his weakened body. As his eyes fluttered closed he felt someone's arms – they were thin and delicate, most likely Hermione's – encase him and pull him close, a muffled sob pressed into his mussed hair.

Before he completely lost consciousness, he heard the silence in the room cascade into a roar of voices, startled, angry, scared, jubilant… He didn't know what the fuss was about, he was just so tired and his body, the pain in his chest, was just begging him, imploring him to give into the ministrations of death. He could hear the sweet, haunting song of Death's siren, luring him forward until he was teetering on the edge of that black, inescapable abyss, his metaphorical toes just peeping over the edge of that bottomless chasm…

Pain radiated through him again, this time so crippling that he couldn't hold on any longer. He succumbed to the darkness, wondering vaguely if he had indeed leapt off the edge of the ebony crevice and into death's arms… or if he had backed up, just a step, to try and delay the inevitable…

_He knew no more._

* * *

The ride back to Hogwarts via Merlin's spell hadn't been the most pleasant, but it couldn't have been any worse than traveling by Floo Powder or Disapparating. First Harry had felt nothing and he had panicked, fretting that they had waited too long – curse Merlin's ridiculous devotion to Arthur! – but as the longest and most complicated spell he had ever heard rolled fluently off of Merlin's weary tongue, he had felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach. It had been similar to the jerk in the naval he would feel every time that he traveled by Portkey – an ordinary, everyday object that had been enchanted to take wizards who touched it from one place to another – but much gentler.

And then the mist had come.

The mist had to have been the worst sort of barrier he had ever encountered, if only because of its density. It was thicker than fog but lighter than air, obscuring all vision and clouding his minds and thoughts. But the most discombobulating effect of the mist was the voices.

He heard snippets of conversations from his past, voices of friend and foe alike... He heard Dudley making fun of him, Dumbledore reassuring him, Lupin's voice as he kept Harry from following Sirius through the veil, Voldemort's fearsome chortle of, "I can touch him now…"

He heard Gaius's voice, attempting to make him eat something, Morgana pleading with him to stay with her, Arthur's angry accusation, demanding to know why Merlin was still dying, Kilgharra's wisdom being portrayed only in riddles…

It had been disorienting and painful, reliving those moments and more, while not having any control over them because they were not just in his head – they were everywhere, woven into the mist, scattered in the curls of foggy magic twisting around him. They were  _everything_. He had to fight the urge to stop and follow them, or to try and move the other direction. This must have been what traveling through the wild and unhindered frontier of time and space was like, so confusing, so horrible, yet so comforting at the same time, surrounded by familiar voices and people…

And then it had stopped. There was a loud bang and the mist cleared to reveal that the four of them had reappeared in the absolute worst place in Hogwarts for them to appear – the middle of the Great Hall during dinner, if the darkening sky of the enchanted ceiling was any indication of what time it was. Professor Dumbledore was standing behind the teacher's table, his mouth open as if he had just been making an announcement. Professors Snape and McGonagall were on either side of the headmaster, stunned.

And then the silence in the hall erupted into a clamorous frenzy, the Gryffindors whooping and hollering and (in Lee Jordan's case) cat-calling at their return. The Ravenclaws were talking loudly amongst themselves, stealing furtive glances at the three familiar faces – all looking distinctly bedraggled, Harry assumed – and the unfamiliar face, trying to figure out just what was going on. The Hufflepuffs simply yelled and hollered, mostly excitedly, but also with pure confusion. The Slytherin table seemed to be the only one that offered ill will toward the new arrivals. Harry thought he caught some boos and unveiled insults from Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zambini, and some of the other less subtle Slytherins.

But he didn't care. All that mattered right now was getting Merlin to Dumbledore's office and hoping that Fawkes would heal him.

Merlin!

Harry glanced down, appalled to see Merlin let out an agonized gasp of pain, clutching the wound on his chest, his eyes drooping shut as if he no longer had the strength to hold them open. His body convulsed once, then again, and Hermione wrapped her slender arms around the warlock and held him close. Her face was pressed into his raven hair, tears pouring down her face as she tried to still him, to comfort him in his agony. The sight terrified Harry because it brought everything that had happened into clear focus and reminded him of just how much they all – but Merlin especially – had been through the last few days. The way Hermione was holding their dying friend, tears streaming in rivets down her face, stung Harry to the core. It was as if he was already dead…

The convulsions stopped and Merlin went limp – too still – in Hermione's tender hold. Was he…? Harry couldn't tell if Merlin was still alive or not, but he felt Ron trembling beside him and Hermione shaking with sobs on his other side and he knew that if the strength the spell had sucked out of him hadn't left him dead, he would be soon, more than likely before they could get him to Fawkes…

They had failed. He felt the tears spring into his eyes at that moment. He heard Dumbledore ordering silence and instantly the rumble of voices died down to nothingness. Dumbledore was saying something, barking orders, and several pairs of footsteps approached the four broken wizards on the floor in the middle of the Great Hall. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, letting the tears run unhindered down his face.

It was over. It was all over.

* * *

Dumbledore had silenced the students and told them to remain in their seats. He had ordered Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall, and their Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Rubeus Hagrid (a giant of a man) to follow him, telling the other teachers to instruct the students to go back to their dormitories as soon as Harry and the others had been taken out of the Great Hall.

Now Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid rushed to the middle of the room to the students. "Harry," said Dumbledore, shaking the boy's shoulder. Harry opened his tear-filled green eyes and met Dumbledore's.

The torment in those emerald depths almost shocked wise old Dumbledore. "My boy, what on earth has happened?"

McGonagall, whose attention was on the prone, unfamiliar boy in Hermione's arms, let out a gasp. "Albus… look at him. Look at his chest…"

Her voice trailed off and for the first time Dumbledore fully focused his attention on the young man that he did not know, still cradled protectively in Hermione Granger's arms. It didn't escape the keen headmaster's notice that Mr. Weasley didn't seem to mind how much attention Hermione was giving to the injured lad, or that the red-head seemed to be just as distraught by whatever had happened to this boy as his two best friends.

The boy looked to be about nineteen, maybe a bit older, with pale skin – almost a yellow color due to whatever ordeal he had been through. He wore tattered clothing – black slacks that were a bit too short for him, a red shirt ripped around his chest, revealing a rather nasty wound, a blue neckerchief, and a brown jacket – that looked to be made out of cotton, a material rarely used solely for clothes anymore. His feet were protected by old socks and brown boots.

It wasn't his attire that baffled Albus Dumbledore the most, no matter how out-of-place it was. Instead, it was the wound that the gash in his tunic revealed, oozing blood and little tendrils of smoke, and emitting the unwelcome stench of rotting flesh. He was also taken aback by the pure buzz of power that he felt in the boy, radiating through his being, stronger than any magic Dumbledore had encountered before – including his own. It was so raw and real that it had to come from someone connected directly with the magic of the ancients, the magic from before the dawn of time. The magic formerly known as the Old Religion.

But how…? There was no wizard on this earth that had knowledge of the Old Religion. Dumbledore himself had found some sacred texts and studied the ancient magic, but even he was no expert. This boy, this strange and fascinating boy, was brimming with its power. He had to be the most powerful warlock to ever exist…

Snapping back to reality, Dumbledore spoke, all business. "He has been hit with a killing curse, Minerva, but somehow he managed to ward off most of the effects, but it has cursed him, am I right?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up at their professor and nodded in unison.

Snape spoke up, his voice quiet and dangerous. Behind him the sound of the students getting up and orderly leaving the Great Hall at the instruction of the other teachers and the prefects could be heard, but he paid no heed to the quiet chaos. "Surely it was dark magic that allowed him to do such things, as well as to Apparate on school grounds, Headmaster," the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher suggested silkily. "Might I suggest we take extra precautions with this boy?"

Harry's eyes snapped onto Snape's and he hissed, "He was  _not_  using dark magic! And he didn't Apparate – he used a spell from the Old Religion to get us back!"

"Headmaster, I must insist –" Snape began but Dumbledore cut him off curtly.

"Severus, I must ask that you trust me in these matters. The boy is not evil, that I know for certain. And I also know that his position is critical – he is on the brink of death."

"Professor Dumbledore, do yeh want me ter get Madame Pomfrey fer yeh?" Hagrid asked loudly. "She might be a bit o' help."

"She won't be able to help, Hagrid!" Hermione cried, meeting the big, hairy man's kind, crinkly black eyes. "Only the tears of a phoenix can heal him, that's why we brought him here!"

"Hogwarts is  _not_ a hospital for the general public, Miss Granger," Snape snapped, glaring at the girl but McGonagall interrupted.

"Severus Snape!" the Transfiguration teacher shrieked. "Are you  _really_  going to tell me that they should have left this poor youth to die! For heaven's sakes, he's not much more than a  _boy_!"

His black eyes smoldering, Snape retorted, "Be that as it may, Minerva, it does not do to bring just anyone to Hogwarts. With the Dark Lord and his minions prowling around like hellhounds, he could be anyone."

McGonagall, feisty as ever despite her uptight appearance, was about to respond when Dumbledore shushed them. "Now is neither the time or the place," the headmaster said. He met Hermione's eyes. "Only a phoenix can heal him?"

Hermione nodded frantically. "And Harry thought – Fawkes – he healed Harry from the Basilisk's poison…"

Ron spoke up for the first time. "Can you make Fawkes heal him, Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "I am afraid that I cannot make a phoenix do anything, Mr. Weasley. Phoenixes are independent creatures and their powers are great. They deem who is worthy to be healed and who  _needs_ to be healed."

"But Professor, you don't understand," Harry said desperately. "This is –"

"It does not matter who it is, Harry," Dumbledore interjected quietly. "Only Fawkes can decide who to heal, and I have not seen the bird for several days. He comes and goes as he pleases." There was true sorrow in the old man's eyes. "I am sorry – there is nothing I can do."

Hermione let out a whimper and a gasp of pain could be heard. The injured young man began to convulse again, more rapidly than ever. Behind his pale eyelids, his eyes moved rapidly as he twitched. They knew he was coming to an end.

* * *

"NO!" Harry yelled, anguish engulfing him. It couldn't end like this – it  _couldn't_. Not after everything they'd been through. They'd defeated Nimueh, sent Voldemort back to his own time, they had managed to get back to Hogwarts, and now Fawkes was nowhere to be seen…

_Arthur would never forgive him._

As quickly as the convulsions had come, they stopped, leaving Merlin unnaturally still and cold. He was…dead?

From somewhere nearby, the low, mournful call of a bird could be heard, a lament to those who had passed.


	29. Fawkes's Gift

"No!" Harry cried again, this time less forcefully.

Professor McGonagall lowered her head, her face the picture of grief for this boy that she did not even know. Professor Snape looked on, his face void of all expression. Hagrid simply stood, looking pained at the idea of someone dying so young but not in any real position to grieve. Dumbledore watched the three broken students and their mysterious companion with old, weathered eyes and a dark expression, almost as if he, too, knew what this boy's death could mean. The Great Hall was empty now, all the other teachers, students, and ghosts having been dispersed back to their respective houses or chambers.

The bird's call sounded again, and Harry lifted his head up, glancing at Ron, who was staring toward the doors to the hall, eyes wide and hopeful, and Hermione, who still had her face buried in Merlin's hair, sobs racking her body. Suddenly Ron let out a shout, jumping to his feet and pointing to the open doorway of the Great Hall. Harry turned toward where Ron was pointing and leapt to his feet as well, letting out a sigh of relief.

_Fawkes._

The majestic bird was swooping into the Great Hall like a burning fire of life and purity. His wings stretched out to an impressive wingspan for a bird of his size, plumed with red and orange feathers that could have been reflecting the sun.

The phoenix let out another soft cry, gliding through the air and landing gracefully on the stone floor between where Ron was standing and Merlin was lying. Merlin's head was still in Hermione's lap, but the girl had straightened up, tears staining her face with new tears – tears of hope, of joy, this time – welling up to replace the tears of grief. She gently stroked Merlin's hair as Fawkes wasted no time in doing what he had come here to do.

He leaned his bright, beautiful head forward and laid it on Merlin's chest, right next to the terrible wound. With a soft  _coo_  that spoke more than any amount of words ever could, great silver tears slipped from Fawkes's eyes and landed on the curse wound, sizzling as they made contact with the dark magic's poison. The professors and students alike watched, as if mesmerized, as the blood that had clotted over the gash was siphoned away, drawn into nothingness by the magical purity of his healing tears. The ghastly cut began to heal, the dead skin turning from black to Merlin's usual pale coloring and joining back together as some of the color returned to Merlin's ashen face.

The warlock gave a shudder and coughed, his eyes remaining closed – but he was  _breathing!_

Harry felt tears of happiness trying to escape from his own eyes as Ron let out a victory whoop, going silent after Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape teamed up to give him a disapproving glare. The corners of McGonagall's mouth, however, were twitching upwards as she chided, "Inside voices, Mr. Weasley."

Fawkes let out another beautiful call, the song haunting, mesmerizing, and the most beautiful Harry had ever heard. Spreading his fiery wings once more, Fawkes flapped his way into the air. Harry reached out and stroked the bird's sleek feathers and Fawkes cooed contentedly. "Thank you," Harry whispered, petting the phoenix once more before the bird flew out of the Great Hall and disappeared from sight.

Harry looked at his hand in surprise, for when he had removed his hand from Fawkes's back, a feather – perfectly formed, orange as the setting sun and streaked with red and gold, almost as long as his forearm – had fluttered off of his back, resting in Harry's now outstretched hand.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry, commenting, "Phoenixes do not lose their feathers unintentionally, Harry. He wanted to give you that token, and he must have had a reason. It is an honor, to be acknowledged so by a fire-bird. Like I have said before, you must be outrageously loyal to me for Fawkes to give you such an honor. Use it wisely." Harry nodded, a bit dazed.

That being said, he crouched down next to Merlin and touched his forehead, nodding in approval. "Fawkes did his job well; the boy was so close to death that if he had been a  _moment_  later, it would have been too late." The news shook Harry, and judging by the looks on Ron and Hermione's faces, it rattled them too. "Thus, it may take him a bit longer while to recover than it did for you, Harry, to heal from the basilisk poison. We'll make sure he's taken care of until he wakes up—" He cut himself off, chuckling as he caught sight of the healed wound above Merlin's heart, now void of blood and easier to see. "Well, would you look at that."

Harry leaned forward and gasped. On the pale flesh was a scar from the dark magic's wound – a scar that was shaped significantly like a bolt of lightning.

Harry grinned. "So I'm not alone anymore," he chortled, not really even sure what he was talking about, but now that most of the strain and worry had lifted after what had seemed like a lifetime, he found that he really didn't care.

Dumbledore stood up. "Hagrid, if you would, pick him up – and you and Severus, please accompany to me to my office, so that we can keep our guest away from prying eyes until we can find out more about him. Minerva, will you take Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger to the hospital wing and have Madame Pomfrey fix them up; they look to have had a rough time of it as well. Then come and join Severus and me in my office."

As Hagrid moved to do what Dumbledore had instructed, lifting Merlin into his giant arms, a wave of exhaustion crashed over Harry and he leaned over and helped Hermione up. For the first time he recognized his own aches and pains from the battle and noticed that Ron and Hermione had rings under their eyes and various cuts and bruises as well. He would love to have a lie down in the hospital wing and get rested up, but…

"Professor, we can't, I mean, we should stay with him—" he gestured at Merlin, who hung limply in Hagrid's arms, all but lost in those massive appendages and the folds of that furry moleskin coat.

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "I promise you, Harry, your friend is in good hands. He's been healed by Fawkes, soon he'll be in better shape than you and your friends. Go with Professor McGonagall to the hospital wing. I will personally watch over our guest until he awakens and then I will send for you."

Harry wanted to protest, wanted to tell Dumbledore who Merlin was and why it was imperative that he stay out of sight, but Professor McGonagall, not to be swayed from her orders, barked, "Come along, Potter," and grasped his arm in her surprisingly strong hand. She put an arm around Hermione's shoulder, kindly guiding her along, and Ron followed behind them.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, wishing that he hadn't had to leave Merlin but knowing that if there was anyone he would want to leave any of his friends with for safety, it would be Professor Dumbledore. Besides, he thought, wearily ascending one of the moving staircases alongside his professor and friends, Merlin  _was_  Merlin after all. And as big of an idiot as he was known to be in Camelot, Harry had found that he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

* * *

Arthur scrubbed his hand over his face, exhaling a great puff of air as he got up from his dining chair, paced around his room a couple of times, and plopped right back down into the same chair he had just risen out of. He didn't know what to do with himself now that he actually had nothing to do. He'd normally be getting to sleep about now, exchanging smart remarks with that idiot of a manservant, Merlin, but he found that he just couldn't get his mind or body to shut down.

It had been a rather uneventful day. He had gone through his daily routine like an automaton, without really thinking about what he was doing at all. Training the knights, running patrols, meeting with the council... it had become second nature to him and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate when thoughts and worries of Merlin plagued his head. But at least his normal activities had given him something to focus on, at least marginally. Now it was late and there was nothing left to do except sleep, but sleeping didn't appeal to him at all. He knew that if he slept, he would dream, and after the events of the past few days, what with Merlin on the brink of death in the future somewhere… his dreams would likely not be dreams, but nightmares.

But still, perhaps even nightmares would be better than this sitting, waiting and worrying business. Because that was what he was doing, even if he was reluctant to admit it. He was waiting for Merlin to return to Camelot, and he was worrying about his safety and his health. While every fiber of his being shouted out that he was not supposed to be worried about a commoner, a mere servant, due to the environment he had grown up in and the amount of influence his father had over him, he was worried. Merlin wasn't just his servant.

Merlin was his  _friend_.

Arthur was still reeling from the revelations that had come to him since the arrival of Harry, Ron, and Hermione to Camelot. Not only that Merlin was a warlock – although, despite his acceptance considering the circumstances, it was going to take a while to come to terms with the reality of it – but simply that Merlin was his  _friend._

He'd never had a real friend before. As that thought struck him, he blinked, surprised by it, wondering where it had come from. Of course he had friends, he was the prince for heaven's sake! Nearly everyone in Camelot respected him.

But was respect the same as friendship? Now that he really sat down and thought about it, he realized that perhaps respect and friendship were  _not_  the same thing. After all, many of the people who had claimed to be his friend over the years had only been his friend when it was convenient for them. But Merlin…

It certainly was  _not_  convenient for Merlin to be Arthur's friend. It was considered inappropriate for nobility to be friends with nobles, but beyond that, Merlin was a bloody sorcerer – the worst place in the world for him to be with his magic was in Camelot, near Uther, yet it was exactly there that the loyal servant remained. And he didn't suck up to Arthur; he wasn't a bootlicker. He treated Arthur like a person and not just a prince.

He expected Arthur to live up to his title, that much was obvious. Arthur hadn't even noticed it and Merlin had been guiding him, giving him advice, helping mold him into the man he had become. Looking back, he realized that he had  _really_  changed since the day that he first met Merlin. Even then, Merlin had shown massive amounts of integrity – and idiocy – by challenging Arthur's treatment of that commoner, even after he knew that he was the prince. That was what made Merlin so special, what made him a friend.

He was always there for Arthur, whether Arthur wanted him there or not, in the background, in the forefront, wherever it was Arthur was most likely to acknowledge him. He offered Arthur something that he had never known before – the knowledge that he had someone that would stick by him no matter how much of a prat, or a royal ass, he could be at times. He wouldn't tolerate it, no, and he would make sure that his opinion was heard, even if it was rarely – if ever – heeded.

Merlin was a  _true_  friend and Arthur couldn't believe it had taken him this long to figure it out.

He felt the worried knot in the pit of his stomach grow a bit tighter as he realized that even though there had been a glimmer of hope in this bird's tears (which he still didn't understand; he hadn't even known that birds  _could_ cry, let alone that there were some whose tears could heal), there was every possibility that Arthur's wait for Merlin's return would never end.  _Merlin might not make it_. Merlin could be dead by now.

The idea of Merlin being dead still didn't click with Arthur's brain. He couldn't comprehend it. How could  _Mer_ lin, with his big mouth, all-too-happy demeanor, and irritating ways of pushing Arthur's buttons be  _dead_? He shivered slightly as he remembered thinking that Merlin  _had_ been dead the first few minutes after Voldemort had cursed him.

Arthur cursed and stood up again, not able to stay still. He began to pace, his hands behind his back. What would he do if Merlin never came back? This waiting, with Merlin being in the bloody future – his head was  _still_ reeling from all this news, despite his calm acceptance of Merlin's words – where Arthur couldn't see him, sense him, where Merlin didn't even  _exist_ in this world, was terrible. It was made even worse by the thought that if Merlin never returned, he wouldn't have known what became of him. Had he survived, only to find that the spell the dragon had given him only worked one way? Had he died? Had he decided that he liked this magic school of the future (Arthur snorted, maybe he  _was_  going mad – magic school of the future? Oy.) better than Camelot and decided to stay there?

He knew that if Merlin didn't return, a part of him would always be waiting, wondering, and hoping that someday the one person that had been his friend – one of the people most valuable to him and he hadn't noticed it - would someday return.

* * *

After the pain, everything had been cold.

Somehow, Merlin had felt the chill of death sweep over him, even when buried under layers upon layers of unconsciousness. It had started in his chest, right where the pain had been most, and it had spread rapidly through his veins and across his nerves, freezing him alive.

_It had been so, so cold._

He hadn't been sure if he was alive or dead, or of anything at all for that matter. All he had known had been the searing, blood-chilling, bone-frosting  _cold._

And then, the cold had receded, slowly at first, but soon with more rapidity. And with the decrease of the iciness that had hold of his entire body, the pain had returned with a vengeance and he had wished for the freezing hands of death to embrace him once more. Anything to escape from the hell he had been in.

But then it stopped. The pain seeped away, siphoned away as if being sucked from his plagued body and battered mind. He had felt his strength return, slowly, so slowly that it would be a while before it would completely be revived. A bliss like none he had ever felt had spread through his body, warm, like taking a hot bath, but  _inside_ of him. The warmth had pulsed through his veins, coursing through his body and taking the pain and dark magic with it.

When the wonderful sensation came to an end, he felt peaceful and safe, safer than he had in a long time. He had been mildly aware of voices, jubilant, he thought, but the exhaustion had taken over him completely and he had finally been able to relax. He had allowed himself to sink into sweet sleep and this time when consciousness completely left him, he did not fear that he would fail to wake again.

* * *

Morgana sat on her bed, tucked under the covers, thanks to Gwen, but as far from sleeping as she could get. Her mind was still reeling and refusing to let go of Harry, of everything he had represented and meant to her. She allowed a sad smile to grace her full lips. She was thinking as if he were dead.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she choked back a sob. He might as well have been dead; she would never see or hear from him again. Even now, the same night as when he had left her, she was already beginning to wonder if she had dreamed the whole thing.

But she knew that she hadn't. Harry Potter was indeed real, even if he didn't exist in her time anymore. He was off somewhere else, in the distant future, gallivanting around and doing his spells. After leaving her.

She still had not come to grasp the idea that he had told her about her magic, kissed her, and then left. It just seemed so…wrong somehow. She knew that he had done what he had had to do to save Merlin, but still… it might have been kinder if he hadn't told her that she had magic, instead of revealing her powers to her in a sort of roundabout way and then cryptically implying that she should use her magic for good and not evil. No. She knew that as much pain as she was in now, that if Harry  _hadn't_ told her the truth, when she figured it out for herself, she would have been angry at him, more so than she was now. He had known that. He had told her for the sake of her feelings toward him.

How could she hate him after that?

And that kiss…

She brought a pale, perfectly manicured hand to her mouth and gently brushed her lips, remembering the ethereal feel of his lips touching hers. Her heart ached and leapt at the same time and she knew that she couldn't just sit here, lamenting the cruel lot fate had dealt her over the last few days.

She climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe, he bare feet slapping the cold stone of the floor with each step she took. Exiting the room, she hurriedly made her way toward the room she had visited many times before – mostly to nag at the one who resided in the chambers but occasionally to congratulate or simply talk. She knew that he wouldn't be sleeping either, that he would be awake, worrying about the very person that Harry had left Morgana to save.

With a heavy heart and a need to talk to someone who could understand, who knew something of what had been going on these last few days – more than she did, actually – she stopped in front of his door and knocked lightly, hearing him rise immediately and hurry to see who it was.

She just hoped that he wouldn't be too disappointed when he opened the door, because if she knew Arthur Pendragon at all, he would have been hoping that it was Merlin at the door, safe and sound.


	30. The Sorting Hat

Merlin groaned softly as awareness began to creep back into him. He was tired, perhaps more tired than he had ever felt before, but it was a relaxed exhaustion. He felt like a great weight had been taken off of his shoulder and he sighed contentedly, not entirely sure what the burden that had been removed was. All he knew as that he was laying on a soft surface, covered in something warm, and that he no longer hurt. He didn't remember why he had been hurting in the first place, but he focused his mind on trying to remember something, anything. He kept his eyes closed but explored his mind, probing for any memory or indication of what had happened to him.

Suddenly, without warning, it all came back to him – Harry, Ron and Hermione… Arthur finding out about his magic… the fight with Voldemort and Nimueh… killing Nimueh… sending Voldemort back to his own time… getting hit with the killing curse… getting the spell from the dragon to go back in time to get cured by a phoenix's tears… appearing in a strange place full of unfamiliar faces, all staring at him… and then nothing, nothing but the all-consuming pain in his chest, the realization that he was dying, and then blissful nothing. His eyes snapped open as he recalled the events of the past few days. He wondered if the phoenix tears had worked, but then he realized that if they hadn't, he wouldn't be here.

Where  _was_  here, anyway? Slowly sitting up, his head spinning slightly – or maybe it was the room – but with no more pain in his chest, thank goodness, he took stock of his surroundings for the first time since he had woken up. He was no longer wearing his normal shirt, jacket, and neckerchief, but he had been changed into silky white pajamas, the finest clothing he had ever dressed in. It unnerved him slightly that his clothes had been changed, but if he remembered correctly, his clothes had been dirty, bloody, and holey.

He was in what looked to be some sort of study, but if it  _was_  a study, it was the most eccentric study he had ever seen. The walls were covered in pictures of snoozing old men and women, but the thing was, they were _actually_  snoozing – snoring. Merlin could see their chests moving up and down as the slept and hear their soft snorts. The pictures were moving. This was a place of  _magic._

Hogwarts.

His dizziness forgotten, Merlin swung his legs over the side of the bed he was lying in, noting vaguely that the piece of furniture, as soft and inviting as it was, seemed very out of place in the office. Pushing the thought out of his mind, he begun to explore his surroundings.

There were bookshelves lined with volumes whose titles all centered around magic, magical beasts, spells, and some that he couldn't decipher. He whistled softly, knowing that Gaius would never leave if he saw this place with its vast stores of knowledge. Odd instruments, gold in color and delicate looking, were scattered on display around the study. An unoccupied golden bird perch sat in the middle of the room, near the desk that sported more books and strange objects. On the top of one of the bookshelves was a tattered old pointed hat.

For some reason, the hat captured his full attention and he stared up at it. He glanced around him, checking to see that he was alone, and reached his hand out, whispering, " _Dod o hyd i mi_." He smiled as the ratty fabric sailed through the air and into his hands. With just a moment of hesitation, he jammed the hat onto his head and waited – for what, he didn't know.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice rang out from the hat, echoing in his head.  _"Well, well,"_  said the hat, sounding positively delighted at this turn of events,  _"what do we have here? Surely, I've never been on the head of one who possesses so much raw magic since my master gave me to the founders of Hogwarts. But you are so young still…"_

Having recovered from having an article of clothing speak to him, Merlin stammered softly, "Your… master?"

 _"My first master, my creator, back when I was a shiny new hat – I put all the other hats to shame, I did. I was the most stylish, magical, and clever hat to ever exist. Yes, yes, that was why the great wizard passed me on to the four other greatest wizards of the time – his good friend Godric Gryffindor, and the others, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff."_ The hat paused, as if thinking. But that was impossible; hat's couldn't think. Could they? Merlin shook his head slightly, trying to gather his thoughts – there was still so much about magic that he didn't know.  _"Oy!"_  the hat cried as Merlin's head moved from side to side,  _"Watch how you're moving, won't you?"_ it griped,  _"Do you_ want _to make me fall? I would've thought you'd have put me on for a reason, eh?"_

Merlin apologized, "Sorry. Wasn't thinking."

The hat grunted – a hat, grunting! – and mused,  _"My master did that often as well. Crazy old man, he was – crazy, but brilliant. A bit like my current owner, actually. He would always shake his head when he was confused, and I would go flying off across the room – not much fun, mind you, especially since I tend to get a bit airsick."_

Merlin was beginning to get a curious feeling in the back of his mind and he asked, "Who  _was_  your master, exactly?"

The hat proudly announced,  _"The greatest wizard of all time, of course – Merlin himself!"_

Merlin gaped. This had been  _his_ hat? Apparently the hat could see what he was thinking and its voice echoed around his mind.  _"_ You _are Merlin! I should have known, no one, especially one so young, should possess this much power. But what do you wish of me, little master? There had to have been a reason you put me on. I am the ultimate thinking cap – what is it that you seek?"_

Merlin hesitated. "I dunno," he answered truthfully. "I just felt this strange connection to you, that's all." He fell quiet for a few seconds. "Even a hat says that I'm the greatest wizard of all time. A dragon has told me I have a great destiny. But I'm not sure that I'm the same Merlin they speak about with such a reverence. Everyone expects so much…" He broke off, not wanting a hat to see him cry, but he was still so overwhelmed by all that he was supposed to become.

The hat didn't answer at once and Merlin wondered if it had sensed weakness and decided not to waste its time with him anymore. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the hat scoffed and muttered,  _"I'm not a shallow old fedora, little master. I would not turn away for your humanity. If you could see all the weakness in the minds of the students I sort every year… But you should not feel bad for your concern, or your emotions. You are, after all, still human, and a young one at that. You have suffered greatly, and I can tell you with a heavy heart – well, I could if I had a heart to be heavy, but the point still remains – that you will go through much more turmoil and treachery. But you should stop focusing on what others tell you are to become. Meditate only on the present and what you are doing right now. If you spend all of your time looking toward a time that has yet to come, you will not ever achieve what you set out to do."_

Merlin smiled. "You remind me of a friend of mine," he said softly, Kilgharra entering his mind, "except you give slightly straighter answers than he does."

The hat didn't respond in words. Instead, it suddenly became tighter around Merlin's head, squeezing, and Merlin spluttered, "What are you doing?" The tightness went away and something fairly light landed on Merlin's head as the hat whispered into his mind,  _"If I were to sort you, you would be in all four houses. You possess qualities from them all. You are brave and loyal, like a man you will meet later on in your life, many, many years in the future, when you are nearly as old as time yourself. You are clever when it really matters – like Rowena Ravenclaw. You are dependable and sturdy, a true example of Helga Hufflepuff. And you are cunning, like Salazar Slytherin. Keep the crest I gave you to remind yourself of my words – you must continue to shape these qualities and not let one grow more than the other. You must have balance in your mind and powers. You must focus on the now, not the future."_

Merlin felt the mentioned rest slide on his hair a bit but he didn't remove the hat. Not yet. "But… aren't you risking the future…er, the past, or… whatever, by telling me this now?"

The hat answered cryptically,  _"Only if this moment was never meant to be, little master."_

"What does that mean? Am I meant to be here? Now? Hello?" But the hat had grown silent. Irritated, but still a bit in awe of the wisdom of the hat – _his_ hat – Merlin pulled it off of his head and a necklace chain with a small crest on it about the size of one of Morgana's pendants dropped out from under it and slid to the floor. Before he could bend to pick it up, a voice, cheery and quite pleasant, aged and sprinkled with a great deal of wisdom, spoke out, again causing Merlin to jump back in surprise.

"I see you met the Sorting Hat," it said.

Merlin spun around, momentarily forgetting the crest, and came face to face with an old man. He was about Merlin's height, wearing floor-length purple robes and a tall, pointed hat that was in much better shape than the old Sorting Hat stood on his head. Long white hair flowed from beneath the hat, so long, in fact, that he could have tucked it – along with his white beard – into his belt if he so wished. His eyes were light blue and sparkled with life, half-moon spectacles perched atop his crooked nose. Merlin noticed that one of his weathered hands was blackened and withered, and he couldn't help but ask, "What happened?" He knew it must have sounded rude, but the injury looked so terrible that he couldn't help but ask.

The man chuckled. "Mere stupidity on my part, I'm afraid. It's a curse – dark magic."

Merlin didn't know the man but somehow knew that he could trust him. He  _wanted_ to talk to him, to learn more. "I was dying, wasn't I?" he asked, wanting to make sure he hadn't dreamed the last few days up. The man nodded. "But I was saved…"

A nod from the man affirmed his question. "Yes, Fawkes is a magnificent bird. He arrived just in time to save your life – he must have thought you were awfully important to have saved your life like that."

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. Here they were at the importance aspect again. Everyone, even this old man, expected something great from him, and they had only just met! Remembering the hat's warnings, Merlin forced the thoughts of expectations out of his aching head and asked, "Fawkes is a phoenix?" Another nod. "Is he  _your_  phoenix?" Yet another nod. "So you are Professor Dumbledore, then?"

Dumbledore beamed, obviously delighted that Merlin knew who he was. "You know me, wonderful. May I ask how?"

Merlin blushed lightly. "Hermione told me a lot about you, sire," he muttered, thinking that for such a well respected man, he deserved some sort of title. Before Dumbledore could respond, Merlin spun around, suddenly realizing who was missing. "Harry, Ron, and Hermione," he said breathlessly. "Where are they?"

Professor Dumbledore took Merlin gently by the arm with his good hand and led him over to the desk, conjuring four chairs to rest before it with a wave of his wand. He guided Merlin to one of the chairs and sat him down, moving around to sit behind the desk. "Don't worry," he said, smiling reassuringly at the warlock across from him. "When I saw that you were about to awaken, I sent Minerva to fetch them from the hospital wing – please, sit, you need to relax, they're fine, only resting." Merlin eased back into a sitting position and nodded. "I believe we should all have a talk before we see about getting you back to your own time, eh, Merlin?"

Merlin started. "How do you know who I am?" he asked.

Dumbledore just patted his shoulder and winked, and then sat back, humming, waiting for the other three students to arrive. After a few moments of humming, he leaned forward and reached into a jar that sat on his desk, pulling out two yellow lumps and unsticking them happily. "Lemon drop?" he asked politely and Merlin shook his head, not sure what a lemon drop actually was.

Suddenly remembering that he had left his crest on the floor, he scrambled up to get it, and when he picked it up and walked back to his seat he examined it carefully. It was beautiful, what looked to be solid gold. It was a crest, like some of the family crests he had seen the nobles sporting in Camelot. This one was divided into four sections, each with a different background color and animal. There was a red section with a lion, a blue one with a bird, a yellow one with a badger, and a green one with a snake. "What does it mean?" he asked bluntly as he looked at the seal. He passed it across the desk to Dumbledore who took one glance at it and answered.

"It is the Hogwarts crest. The four houses – the lion is Gryffindor, the raven is Ravenclaw, the badger is Hufflepuff, and the green one is Slytherin." Merlin picked up the crest again and turned it over in his fingers, examining it, the thin neck chain it was on tinkling as it brushed up against his fingers. Dumbledore watched him carefully. "Where did you get it?"

Merlin met the merry blue eyes and had a feeling that Dumbledore already knew where he had obtained the necklace and was just trying to make pleasant conversation. Obliging him, Merlin replied, "The hat – the Sorting Hat – gave it to me. It said that it was to be a reminder that I possessed qualities from all four houses and that I have to keep each part in balance, and that I can't focus on the future… It said it used to be  _my_  hat."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, you created it, your very own magical, talking, thinking cap, the only one of its kind, not long after you were appointed Court Sorcerer, I believe."

Merlin's eyes lit up. "Arthur's going to name me Court Sorcerer?"

Dumbledore laughed. "I would fear I said too much, but I'm sure you'll be hearing about it soon, now that your prince knows about your powers."

Merlin wrinkled his brow in confusion. "How do you know all this?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I  _am_  rather clever sometimes, even if some see me as a bit mad. But I know about Arthurian legend, perhaps more than anyone else, because I knew that you would be coming here."

Merlin blinked. "How?"

Before Dumbledore could respond to the query, there was a knock and the headmaster's door burst open and Harry, Ron, and Hermione, followed by two teachers – a black haired, surly, black-robed man and a tidy, strict-looking woman with brown hair tied in a bun – rushed in. When they saw Merlin alive and well, all three of the students rushed forward, enveloping him in a group embrace.

"It's so good to see you alive," Hermione breathed.

Harry grinned. "Told you Fawkes could do it." Merlin noticed that Harry was holding a rolled up piece of parchment with a bright orange feather sticking out of it, but didn't mention it, assuming Harry would bring it up in his own time.

Ron slapped Merlin on the back. "Welcome back."

Merlin laughed. "Thanks. All of you." His eyes met the black ones of the man standing behind his friends, and then the woman's. Their expressions were unreadable but he had a feeling that they were both watching him curiously. He was pretty sure that Professor Dumbledore had told them who he was.

The woman stepped forward, extending her hand. Merlin took it and bowed hesitantly, sure that she  _must_  be of noble blood. "My lady," he muttered.

He didn't expect the stern woman's face to break into a grin. "Good heavens, Albus! What a gentleman he is!" She smiled warmly at Merlin. "I'm afraid I'm no lady," she said, shooting Ron a deadly  _'You'll get detention for this'_  glare when the red-head snorted at her words, "but I am flattered. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration here at Hogwarts." She nodded at the greasy-haired bat-like man. "This is Professor Severus Snape, he was the potions master until just this year, but he is now the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher."

Merlin nodded politely at Professor Snape, who stared coldly back before commenting, "I don't know if gentleman is the right way to describe our great legend," he murmured, sizing Merlin, who realized he was still wearing the snowy pajamas, up. "He has the same aura as Mr. Potter – he's a troublemaker. If he were to stay, I'd bet detention within the first few days."

"Severus!" McGonagall protested but Dumbledore simply chuckled, noticing that Merlin was fingering the silky hem of the nightclothes and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

He nodded to a door at the back of the room. "Your clothes are in there, repaired and washed, if you would like to change." Merlin nodded gratefully. "And then, we can finish our discussion and say our goodbyes – it is imperative that we get you back to your own time soon."

* * *

Morgana stood in the doorway, her robe and nightdress rustling as the material brushed against the floor. Arthur tried not to look too disappointed to see her. It wasn't that he didn't want her to visit, but he had been secretly hoping that it was Merlin, healthy and alive. "Morgana," he said, masking his surprise as best he could – apparently his best wasn't very good at the moment, as Morgana smiled a little sadly and rolled her gray eyes at him.

"I know you were hoping for someone else," she stated, raising her pencil-thin eyebrows at the prince.

Arthur shrugged. "Well, as I've been sitting here not able to catch my train of thought and need a distraction, you'll have to do." He smiled and she relaxed, realizing that he had been joking. Arthur gestured for her to come in. She sat down at his table and he sat across from her, studying her. It was then that he noticed his father's ward looked weary and sad.

Thinking she, too, was worrying solely about Merlin, Arthur tried to assure her, "Merlin will be fine, Morgana. You'll see."

Morgana smiled gratefully. "I hope so. After all the nightmares about his demise, well, it'll be good to have him back, safe and sound." She paused, one long, delicate finger tracing the lines in the wood of his table. "He's a good man, Arthur – loyal, a true friend. You shouldn't take advantage of him. I don't think he's the kind that will befriend you and then up and leave."

Arthur began to put the pieces together. Harry visiting Morgana, Morgana's dismayed appearance, the bitterness in her voice when she spoke those last few words… He realized that she and Harry had become close and that his leaving had cut her deeply.

He took her hand in his own, causing her to look him in the eyes. "Merlin would leave, no matter how loyal he is to me, if it would save a life."

Morgana shrugged, apparently understanding what he was getting at. "Perhaps," she admitted. "But to leave, to go where you'd never see him again? He's in the future, Arthur!" She clamped her lips together, as if afraid that she had said too much.

Arthur nodded wearily. "Don't worry, Morgana," he said, "I know everything."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know about his magic?"

"Yes."

She regarded him suspiciously through slitted eyes. "And you didn't turn him in? Even though he possessed magic and was breaking the law?"

Arthur sighed, running a hand down his face. "I have realized some things over the past few days, Morgana," he began, "and a lot of it – most of it – came from Harry, Ron, and Hermione." He didn't mention Merlin because it was Merlin's secret – a deadly secret – and Arthur was not going to tell it to anyone without Merlin's consent, no matter how trusted that person was. "Magic isn't always bad. It's neutral. Like a sword. The wielder is who is good or evil. I've learned that my father's approach to magic may be more personally biased than I once thought."

Morgana considered this for a moment and then smiled a genuine smile at him. He realized that she, too, must have been afraid that her nightmares were more than just that, and she was happy to know that if Arthur suspected it, he wouldn't turn her in. She should have known he wouldn't anyway, though. She was like his sister.

"I'm proud of you, Arthur," she sighed softly. Seeing the worry still clouding his eyes, she tried to reassure him, "Merlin really  _will_  be okay, Arthur. Like I said, if he's nothing else, he's loyal. He won't leave you here to clean up your own mess, although it might do you some good. Teach you some responsibility." Her eyes were dancing playfully as she teased him. He had helped ease her mind and now she was trying to do the same, cheer him up.

Arthur pretended to be offended. "I thought you were proud of me?"

Morgana smirked. "Shut up, Arthur."

They sunk into a pleasant silence, each doting on their own thoughts, their fears and worries lessened considerably by the other's company. This is how they would get through the uncertain hours until Merlin arrived – together.


	31. The Second Goodbyes

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Merlin sat in the four conjured chairs across from Professor Dumbledore's desk, behind which said professor was seated, Professors McGonagall and Snape slightly behind him. Merlin had changed back into his normal clothes and felt so much better already. The four young magicians had just finished recounting their adventures to Dumbledore, and by default, the other two teachers in the room. Harry had done a great deal of the talking, which Merlin found he didn't mind since he didn't know any of their audience very well.

After they had finished, Dumbledore sat in silence for several minutes, a thoughtful expression taking over his face as he mulled over what he had been told. Snape stared them down, his eyes flashing with an emotion that they couldn't quite place. "So you mean to tell us," the professor began, "that you three  _helped_  Merlin  _kill_ the sorceress Nimueh?"

Hermione shrugged self-consciously. "Well, it was really more Harry and Merlin. We didn't do much of anything." Ron humbly nodded his agreement.

Merlin stared at her. "What are you talking about? We would never have made it out alive if it hadn't been for you and Ron. You guys were fearless, you fought right alongside us, and you kept Arthur safe."

"Headmaster," Snape addressed Dumbledore, "I implore you – think about what they are saying! Are you really going to believe such tales?" His eyes flickered to Merlin, who stared back at him unflinchingly. "You honestly are going to take them at their word that this  _boy_  is the most powerful warlock to ever exist? You are going to take Potter at his word that they went to the past, met and protected King Arthur—"

" _Prince_  Arthur," Harry and Merlin corrected at the same time, grinning at their unplanned synchronization as Snape responded by curling his lip.

"—helped kill Nimueh, fought the Dark Lord and  _won_ , and brought Merlin with them to the future because only a phoenix's tears could save him? Has it crossed your mind that perhaps this so-called Merlin is a phony and Potter and his friends were off on another of their unpermitted adventures and they concocted up this whole scheme just to weasel out of trouble?"

Before Dumbledore could answer, Professor McGonagall made an indignant humph and coldly addressed her colleague, "Really, Severus, I know that Potter has gotten into plenty of mischief before, but what you are suggesting seems quite preposterous. Why on earth would they come up with such an outlandish story to explain their absence?"

"Thank you, Minerva, for your support," Dumbledore butted in, eyes twinkling as he witnessed the exchange, "but I believe I can handle this." He turned to Snape. "Severus, I do not doubt Harry in the slightest. I acknowledge that their tale seems utterly impossible – traveling to the distant past, imagine! – but you must believe me when I say that every word is absolutely, unequivocally true. Especially when you consider that we have the evidence of such an adventure right here." He gazed pointedly at Merlin, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Headmaster, not to be rude," Snape protested, his arrogant tone contradicting his words, "but this  _boy_  could be anyone that they found on the streets of Diagon Alley. What makes you so sure that he is the Merlin of legends?" His eyes traveled over Merlin as if he were observing something unpleasant he had found on the bottom of his shoe. "I always imagined that Merlin would be a little more… impressive."

Merlin flushed angrily at the dismissive words and tone of voice used by the greasy haired teacher. He was used to people regarding him as next to nothing, but after everything he had been through over the past few days, he felt that he deserved a little respect or, at the very least, a bit of kindness. Harry put a hand on his arm and met his eyes, rolling them up into his head, a smirk touching the right corner of his mouth.

Getting the message, Merlin projected his voice into Harry's head like he had during the fight with Nimueh and Voldemort, causing Harry to jump slightly as Merlin's words echoed through his head.  _"Is he always like this?"_

Since Harry didn't have the ability to speak directly back into Merlin's mind he simply nodded, a grin taking the place of the smirk as Merlin's mind spoke to his again.

_"Creep."_

Harry laughed out loud at Merlin's accurate assessment of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher and Snape's cold black eyes, as well as everyone else's, snapped onto Harry as he snorted, trying to control his chuckles. Dumbledore smiled knowingly and Merlin wondered fleetingly if somehow the headmaster had known what had been said.

"Well, Severus, despite the feel of raw power radiating from him – power that can only come from a creature of magic, of the Old Religion – as I told Merlin before you arrived, I knew that he would be coming to Hogwarts, to the future someday. I have known for a very long time, since the day I was appointed headmaster, in fact." His blue eyes were positively glistening with mystery. It was clear that he was enjoying this.

All previous thoughts about turning Snape into something unpleasant fled from Merlin's mind at the headmaster's words. "So it's true? You did know I would be here? But… what does that mean?"

Hermione's eyes lit up as she made the connection. "It means that we haven't messed up the fabric of time as we feared."

Ron looked puzzled while Snape fumed and Dumbledore beamed and agreed with his brightest pupil. "Quite, Ms. Granger."

Harry frowned. "So what you're saying is that all this – Nimueh and Voldemort creating an alliance, us being taken to the past, meeting Merlin and Arthur – was actually  _meant_  to happen?"

Dumbledore smiled proudly as his students figured it out. "Yes – if for some reason Voldemort had never sought help from Nimueh, and if she hadn't lured you three through the mists of time and to ancient Camelot, if you had never become friends with Merlin and helped changed Arthur's views on magic, it would have actually been detrimental to the time line. This is an extraordinary occurrence. I don't know if there has ever been an instance of time travel that was pre-ordained by time and space to happen in our history. But whatever the reason that this most deadly alliance was meant to be struck, the point remains the same: if it hadn't happened, the past and future would have been altered forever."

Hermione chuckled in relief. "We were so afraid that we were going to ruin everything," she mused, "but if we  _hadn't_  done what we thought was messing with time, we would have ruined everything."

Merlin stared steadily at Dumbledore. "But what exactly does that mean? If Harry, Ron, and Hermione had not found their way to Camelot, how would the past and future have been changed?"

Dumbledore chortled softly. "Although I may look as old as time itself – and nearly as wise – I cannot pretend to know everything, Merlin. I can only guess – although, not to brag, but my guesses are usually quite spot-on; it's a gift that comes from my old age and wrinkles, I suppose." Merlin found himself smiling. He really liked this quirky professor. "I can speculate that in the best-case scenario, the events of time would have been effected very little – Arthur would have found out about your magic at a later time, Morgana would never have found out about her magic until it was far too late for her—"

At this, Harry interrupted, his eyes shining. "Are you saying there's hope? She may not turn out to be the evil witch Morgan Le Fay?" He caught sight of Hermione's shocked face and Merlin's flabbergasted appearance and cursed himself. How could he have forgotten that Merlin didn't know Morgana's destiny? He had just been so filled with hope and excitement that maybe Morgana would become a force for good that he hadn't thought. "I mean…"

Merlin wiped the surprise off his face and smiled sadly. "Don't worry; as much as I hate to acknowledge it, I suspected as much. After all, Kilgharra is always telling me that she is a witch and cannot be trusted." He sighed. "I guess I just held onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, if I continued to be her friend and try and be there for her, I might could change the dark fate the dragon has spoken about."

"Do not give up hope, any of you!" Dumbledore insisted. "Although the essence of time is interwoven and dependent on previous happenings, it is still a story in the making. Nothing is set in stone. A kind word, a simple kiss, can change anything." He looked pointedly at Harry. "I do not know for certain what the future will hold for Morgana – what is written in the history books could very well be re-written." Winking at Harry, the wise old man added, "So I wouldn't hesitate to have Merlin pass on that note, Mr. Potter. Perhaps  _you_  will be the one to save her from the darkness that destiny wants to force her into."

Harry blushed as everyone's eyes traveled to the parchment-wrapped feather still clutched tightly in his hand. Ron gaped at him. "You didn't!" Harry chuckled as Hermione stared, looking torn between annoyance and laughter. He nodded and Ron whistled appreciatively. "You  _kissed_  her? Harry, she was…  _wow._  You  _kissed_  her…"

Hermione frowned but her eyes were glittering. "Harry, I thought I told you  _not_  to tell her anything. That it was too dangerous if she knew about her magic."

Harry shrugged. "She would have found out someday anyway. And I figured that it might soften her heart if she found out from someone she cares about instead of having to struggle through doubt and uncertainty by herself."

"This is all very well and good," Professor McGonagall interceded, "but it doesn't explain  _how_  you knew that Merlin, of all people, would be coming  _here_."

Dumbledore smiled widely at the head of Gryffindor House. "Ah, but it does, my dear Professor McGonagall. You see, like I said, this is one of the only – if not  _the_  only – instances where time-travel was meant to be. Because of this, when you were an old man, Merlin,  _this_ , this meeting, here and now, had already happened to you, even though you were in the past."

Merlin was very confused. "I'm  _not_  an old man," he said slowly. "And I don't understand, how can I already know about this as an old man when I am still young?"

"You have from my perspective – our perspective," Dumbledore explained. When Merlin shook his head, bewildered, the headmaster tried a different approach. "We all knew about you before we ever met, because of the impact you will make on our history, correct?" Merlin nodded. "It's the same concept. As far as we are concerned, judging by the time we are in, you have not only grown into an old man, but you died many, many years ago. In fact, it should be impossible for you to be here  _now_  because you shouldn't be alive in this time. Do you follow me?"

Even Hermione looked a little confused as all four young people stared at the wizard before them. Dumbledore sighed. "You are really a part of our history, Merlin. And in our history, your future, not long before your death, you decided to give your hat to four people that you had met and become good friends with – but  _only_  because you had heard their names before, as a young warlock visiting Hogwarts from the past. Since this was meant to happen, what is happening right here, right now, was actually a part of your past. You  _knew_ this would happen, and so when you presented your hat – along with the crest that you had been given by the very same hat, albeit thousands of years older, in this moment. You told Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor to pass on the word, from headmaster to headmaster that you would return sometime in the far future to live out what had to happen for you to be where you were then and there."

Professor McGonagall let out a giggle. "Professor Dumbledore, sometimes I must wonder if you are not the most intelligent man of all time – how you can possibly comprehend something so vast is beyond me."

Merlin's head was aching a bit but he  _had_ to understand this, if only to make it happen when he grew older. "It's almost like a circle," he said. "A cycle." He glanced at Dumbledore and the man nodded, encouraging him. Merlin laughed. "It's crazy – but brilliant! Don't you all see – I just received from my very own hat the very own crest I'm going to give to the founders of Hogwarts to initiate the school in the first place! When I gave it to them, along with the hat, I made sure they knew to pass on the story, the rumor, that I would return as a much younger man to reclaim the crest. The hat knew I was coming, and so did Professor Dumbledore because of the tale of my return passed from headmaster to headmaster. But there wouldn't have been any crest to give if I hadn't come here, because I never would have gotten it from my older self!"

Hermione began to chuckle along with him. "It's brilliant – positively remarkable! Do you know what you have done, Merlin? You have succeeded in living forwards, backwards, even diagonally, I daresay! The fact that it's a never-ending cycle where everything is so interconnected and…" She let out a breath of air. "You have to be the craziest man I've ever met, Merlin – but the most brilliant, by far!"

Merlin grinned. "That's what the hat –  _my_  hat told me! Along with other advice that…" He smacked his forehead. "Of course! I must have known how much I would doubt myself – because, obviously, I  _am_  myself and lived through it – and I knew that I would never become the man I did unless I was given the pep talk, the advice, the instruction to live in the here and now instead of worrying about what lay ahead…" He shook his head in wonder. " _I_  planned all of this, everything since I arrived here at Hogwarts. But… I didn't, at the same time, because I was merely ensuring that what happened to me – what's happening to me  _now_  – would happen again and keep the cycle going."

"You're mad, you are," Ron interjected, his voice both amused and awed. "A complete nutter."

"Ronald!" Hermione hissed. "That's not very polite!"

Harry began to chortle. "I think it just may be the truth. After all, there's another wizard I know who's been said to be mad – and maybe he is – but I prefer to think of him as insanely intelligent."

Dumbledore smiled merrily. "The only difference is, people merely think I'm crazy as a bat. If I'm right, you have quite the reputation for being an idiot, don't you, Merlin?"

Merlin grinned quirkily. "It comes in handy from time to time. It's hard to get arrested for sorcery when everyone thinks you're too much of an imbecile to practice it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Bear that in mind, Merlin, because you will have to be extra vigilant when it comes to hiding your secret now that Arthur knows."

Merlin nodded, sensing the conversation was about to come to a close and that the time for good-byes was drawing near. But Snape wasn't quite satisfied yet. "Headmaster, I thought the legend of Merlin's return was merely that – a legend. Surely you aren't going to put such stock into it, are you?"

Merlin stood up, feeling quite agitated at the greasy man's disbelief. "Would it make you feel better," he asked as respectfully as he could, "if I  _proved_  to you that I am who I claim to be?"

Snape glowered at him and didn't respond. Merlin took that as a yes. Dumbledore continued to smile, rocking back and forth slightly in his chair. Harry, Ron, and Hermione leaned forward in excitement, itching to see Snape proven wrong, and Professor McGonagall seemed to be barely containing her eagerness to see the greatest wizard of all time perform a spell. Merlin thought for a moment, then reached out a hand toward a mirror on the wall of Dumbledore's study, whispering, " _Drych yn dod yn fyw, ddangos I ni symud ymlaen yn y cyfnod, y frwydr dros ein bywydau wewn ogof yng Camelot._ " His eyes flashed gold and the mirror frosted over.

When the frost melted, there on the surface of the mirror displayed the fight against Nimueh and Voldemort. The only difference was, the only parts from the fight that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been involved in, showcasing their ingenuity, bravery, and cleverness. After the images had faded away, Merlin staggered slightly from a spinning head. He had made up the spell on the spot and it had taken away quite a bit of his energy. Immediately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all at his side, supporting him as he looked unblinkingly into Snape's eyes.

"I do not need to prove who I am to anyone," he announced. "I will be leaving here, soon, anyway, but I didn't want you to doubt the bravery of my friends. Harry, Ron, and Hermione saved my life, and Prince Arthur's life as well. They helped me defeat the witch, Nimueh, and together, we sent Voldemort back into his own time, where he will be faced, as Harry's prophecy intended, when the time arrives. I know that you may not be their biggest fan, Professor Snape, but believe me when I tell you that Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley are the three bravest students that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will ever house."

All three of the students looked stunned at the praise. Snape looked mildly impressed by Merlin's show of power but quickly covered it. "Be that as it may, young  _Merlin_ ," he acknowledged, "bravery is not enough to exempt oneself from detention for being undeterred troublemakers, is it,  _Mr. Potter_?" Dumbledore chuckled and Professor McGonagall smirked.

"Now then," Dumbledore said, standing up, "I fear our time together has to come to a close. Merlin needs to get back to his own time, and to his prince. From what I've heard about the exploits of the prince of Camelot, heaven knows what he'll be into by the time you get back."

"Wait, before I go, Professor," Merlin cut in, "there's something I'd like to ask."

Dumbledore nodded. "By all means."

He exchanged glances with Hermione, Harry, and Ron and knew they were all thinking the same thing. "When we killed Nimueh, Voldemort disappeared, back to this time, because it was Nimueh who brought him here. So why did they not disappear back into their time with him? It was Nimueh who lured them back in time. Shouldn't they have been connected to her as well?"

"Well, yes and no," Dumbledore admitted. "I can't say that I know for sure, but as I previously said, I can estimate. I believe that at first they were connected to Nimueh, as she was the enchantress who brought them to Camelot. But after they became close to you, Merlin, the connection, their place in Camelot, began to slip from her grasp and build into yours. Without any of you knowing it, your magic was subconsciously binding you together. With you attached to Merlin's strong magic, you were held here. Merlin was your anchor, and while Voldemort was being zipped back through time and space, you were held firm by Merlin's presence. But if he had died, you would have returned back to this time automatically. Someone in a different time must have something to keep them there. For Voldemort, it was Nimueh's magic, and for you three," he nodded in turn at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "it was  _Merlin's_  magic."

"Good gracious!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, goggling at Merlin with awe. "The amount of power, of magic, that kind of connection must have taken… and without even knowing it? It's incredible… and a bit frightening."

Snape looked Merlin up and down again and smirked. "I fear I must agree with you Minerva. A frightening prospect indeed…"

Harry grinned. "Well, he is  _the_  Merlin, after all!"

Rolling his eyes, Merlin announced, "If there's one thing I learned through all of this, it is that I'll never make it to the person who creates that hat, or becomes so powerful, or who gives this—" he lifted the crest that now hung proudly around his thin neck, "—to the founders of this school, unless I let go of my fears of what is to come. I'm going to focus on what is now – and that is keeping the royal prat's royal backside out of trouble."

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Brilliant! And now, we must say our good-byes. I fear I shan't be seeing you again, Merlin, although I wouldn't be positive that your parting with Mr. Potter and his friends is forever; after all, your destinies have become so intertwined that I wouldn't be surprised if you meet again sometime in the future…" He let the statement slide, his eyes twinkling.

"Do you know something we don't know, Professor?" Harry asked slowly, a grin building up on his face.

"Of course I do, Harry, what a silly question!" Dumbledore remarked cheerfully. "After all, I  _am_  a professor; it's my job to know things that young pupils like yourself do not."

Harry laughed. "Of course." He turned to Merlin and his green eyes looked a bit misty. "I don't know what the future's going to hold, Merlin, although I believe that Professor Dumbledore may have an inkling. But no matter what, whether our paths ever cross again or not, I'd like to tell you thank you. You've been a great friend and teacher."

Merlin shook his head. "You've taught me a lot, too, Harry."

"We've taught each other," Ron commented, smacking Merlin on the back. "Well, mate, it'll be a shame to see you go." He glanced at Hermione, his eyes becoming clouded over momentarily. "But not too much of a shame, eh? Drop by and see us next time you're in the future, alright?"

Merlin laughed. "Of course." He turned to Hermione, who ran to him, wrapping her arms around him. "You're a great man, Merlin," she muttered into his shoulder. "And you'll do great things – I don't need a text book to tell me that." She pulled back and bit her lip before leaning forward and giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "You've been a wonderful friend."

"As have you," Merlin acknowledged, feeling pricks at the corners of his eyes. "I'll miss you all – it's been fun, well, except for the whole nearly dying part, that is."

Hermione choked on a half sob, half laugh and stepped back beside Ron who pulled her close, comforting her. Merlin smiled to himself when he saw this.  _If they don't wind up married someday, I'll eat my hat._ Then, looking at the ratty old hat sitting atop the shelf, he could have sworn he heard a voice echo through his mind,  _Oh, no, you don't – I prefer to be undigested, if you know what I mean._  Merlin rolled his eyes. He really didn't think it would be much of a problem anyway. They may not have completely realized it yet, but anyone with eyes could see how they felt about each other – when they weren't bickering, of course. He and Harry shared a knowing grin.

Merlin turned to face the three professors. "It was an honor meeting you all," he smiled.

To his surprise, all three of them, Snape included, nodded their heads forward in a slight bow, acknowledging him. "The honor has been ours," Dumbledore countered, baby blue eyes misting behind his half-moon spectacles.

Merlin opened his mouth, about to begin to incant the spell that would take him home when Harry yelled, "Wait!" He rushed forward and pressed the phoenix feather wrapped in the sheet of parchment into Merlin's hands. "Can you… see that Morgana gets it, please? And let her know…" he sniffed, "…that I'll never forget her?"

Merlin nodded. "Of course." He turned to his friends. "Good-bye. Maybe our paths will cross again." He closed his eyes, opening them to a burning gold as he called out, his voice positively rippling with unbridled power, " _Pwerau o'r amser, arwain fi yn awr drwy niwl amser byth yn trosglwyddo, canllaw i mi yn ôl i Camelot, o ba le yr wyf yn dod!_ "

After he had disappeared in another foggy display, similar to the one he had made an entrance with, all was silent in Professor Dumbledore's office. Finally Dumbledore broke the silence by saying, "Well, now, that was fun." He glanced around, his eyes wandering from Harry to Ron, to Hermione, then to Professor McGonagall, and finally landing on Professor Snape, where they stayed as he reached into his jar and pulled out a yellow lump of candy. Raising his eyebrows at Snape, he asked, "Lemon drop?"

Harry burst out laughing, and soon the entire office was rife with frivolity, save for Snape, who was looking just about as sour as the lemon drop.  _Well,_  Harry thought as he helped himself to one of the tangy treats,  _some things just never change._


	32. Epilogue - The Letter

The rest of the day and night had passed in Camelot, Arthur spending the majority of the night with his heart feeling heavy and his stomach twisted in knots. He had heard nothing from Merlin and the lack of annoying magical servant meant one of three things: he was either still in the future but not ready to return to Camelot, he was still in the future but the spell he had been given only worked to get him there and not back, or the most terrifying possibility of all, he hadn't made it in time and was dead. As much as Arthur wanted to believe that his servant – his  _friend_  – was alive and well, the way he saw it, there was a two in three chance that he would never see Merlin again. And the worst part by far was still the uncertainty.

And so the crown prince of Camelot spent the night immersed in nightmares, reliving the rattling events of the last few days. He saw the faces of Nimueh and Voldemort sneering evilly at him, murder in their eyes… Merlin chained to the cold, hard wall of the cave, Nimueh's perfectly manicured fingers trailing down the helpless servant's face, Voldemort's skeletal hand immersed in Merlin's hair… Merlin writhing and screaming in agony… Merlin's eyes flashing an unearthly gold as he unleashed a power that was staggering… The magical battle… A flash of green light hitting Merlin in the heart… Merlin collapsing in his arms…Merlin  _dying_ …

It was a relief when the sunbeams began to shine through his windows, signaling the end of his weary, sleepless night. As much as he hated worry plaguing him all during the day, nothing was worse than a night swarming with nightmares and uncertainties. Just as he was about to heave himself out of bed and get dressed – by himself; he had told his father that Merlin was still recovering for an indefinite amount of time and had outright refused to have him replaced, even temporarily, by one of his father's bootlicking servants, which had infuriated Uther to no end but the king had given in – his door swung open and Arthur froze where he was, lying on his back under his covers, eyes still closed. He only knew one person that would so  _rudely_  barge into the prince's room without knocking first. Hardly daring to believe it, but hoping beyond all hope that the intruder was who he thought it was, Arthur nearly fell out of bed when he heard an all-too-cheery, " _Gooood_  morning, Sire!"

As it was, Arthur just managed to refrain from ungracefully plummeting off of his mattress and sprawling onto the cold stone floor. Instead, his leap out of bed turned into a sort of stumble. He heard his servant snicker and comment, "And you say  _I'm_  clumsy?"

"Shut up, Merlin." The response was out of Arthur's mouth before he even realized he had said anything. Arthur found himself a bit amazed at how natural he was finding it to bicker teasingly with his servant – how Merlin's time as Arthur's servant had changed Arthur! Arthur found he didn't mind though, especially after all Merlin had done for him since they had met. And now, seeing his friend standing in his doorway, cheeky grin on his thin face, those big blue eyes twinkling and full of life, void of pain…

Arthur was not entirely aware of what he was doing until he was standing in front of Merlin. Merlin cleared his throat nervously. "Arthur?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you still mad at me? I mean… I know I should have gone with them sooner, but I had to talk to you…"

For a moment, those feelings of anger and annoyance merged with the relief of having Merlin back, safe and sound, and he fought the nearly overwhelming urge to clip Merlin round the head. Almost as soon as those unwanted emotions rose to the surface, they crashed back down to the back of his consciousness as the relief washed over him in bucket loads. Merlin was  _alive_ , standing in front of him.

Merlin's nervousness was coming off of him in waves. The idiot actually thought that Arthur was still angry at him! Without saying a word, Arthur stepped forward and did something that he would have never  _dreamed_  of doing before all of this, but now, he didn't even have to think about it. He pulled Merlin into a brotherly embrace, so happy to have his friend – his  _best_  friend – back, alive and well.

It took a moment for the surprise to wear off, but after it had, Merlin returned the unexpected gesture of friendship. After a few seconds Arthur stepped back and appraised his servant, scanning him for harm. Merlin looked touched but also more than a little confused at what had just happened. "You're alright, then?" Arthur asked, cursing his voice for harboring so much emotion.

Merlin grinned, the shock disappearing from his face. "Never been better," he announced. "Thanks to a beautiful fire-bird named Fawkes, I escaped unmarked except for a rather neat little scar like lightening on my chest."

"Mmm." A thought struck Arthur. "How long have you been back?"

Merlin shrugged as if at a loss why it mattered when he arrived back in Camelot but answered, "Pretty early into the night." Arthur felt the ever-present Merlin-induced irritation begin to bubble up inside of him again and he glared at Merlin, who stared innocently back at him. "What?"

Voice low and measured, Arthur ground out, "You have been in Camelot most of the night and you didn't even  _think_  to let me know you had returned? You let me spend all night filled with nightmares, wondering where you were, and all the while you were right here in the bloody castle?"

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Didn't think you cared so much, Arthur." He smirked. "After all, a  _servant_  like me can't be friends with a princely ass like you, can I?"

Arthur couldn't help but gape in disbelief as the words left Merlin's mouth – how could Merlin think that he still believed that after all they had been through the past few days? Sure, Arthur hadn't said it outright, but it was painfully obvious that their relationship had grown and they were friends. Wasn't it? As he fretted silently, Merlin's lips curled into a relaxed smile and he realized that the infuriating servant had been joking with him.

Throwing up his arms, Arthur complained, "What am I going to do with you, Merlin? Even with magic, you're still the most useless servant Camelot has ever known."

Merlin laughed. "Don't try to hide it, Arthur."

Arthur fumed. "What the  _hell_  are you talking about,  _Mer_ lin?"

"You missed me," Merlin announced smugly. "You were worried about me."

Arthur rolled his eyes as the prince and and his warlock of a servant, now savvy to each other's secrets, began to fall back into their old ways even though so much had changed – Arthur knowing about Merlin's magic and being okay with it, the two coming to the realization that even though they were still master and servant, they had a deeper friendship that would help them father a legend someday. "Yes,  _Mer_ lin, I missed you – who else is going to polish my armor, groom my horses, feed and walk my dogs, muck my stables, clean my room, fetch my breakfast, be my target when I'm training…?"

Merlin grimaced. "Ah well," he conceded. "At least I don't have to worry about you catching me using magic to do my chores anymore, eh?"

Arthur stared his servant down. "Merlin," he stated seriously, in the tone of voice that his father used often and that Arthur was becoming exceptionally good at wielding effectively, a tone that said, 'You  _will_  obey me,' "you are to be extremely careful. You are  _not_  to get caught. If you are, my father will have to get in line behind me to kill you. Is. That. Understood."

Merlin nodded somberly, letting Arthur see that the warlock was fully intending to abide by the prince's orders. He was actually quite touched at Arthur's concern and had no doubt that if he was caught Arthur would do whatever it took to save his friend, being ready to kill him all the while. When Arthur had nodded back at Merlin, confirming Merlin's agreement, the servant smiled again. "See, I told you – you  _do_  worry about me!"

Arthur snapped, "Only because you're the most pathetic, spineless  _girl_  I've ever met,  _Mer_ lin."

Merlin was quick on his feet with a counter of his own. "At least I'm not a dollop-head."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

"Klutz."

"Clot pole."

" _Mer_ lin!"

Merlin's face lit up into a genuine grin and Arthur couldn't help but smile back. Even though so much had changed, it wasn't that different, after all. With a quirky grin at his master, Merlin saluted jokingly and left the prince's chambers, both young men's hearts lighter than they had been in a long time.

* * *

Merlin paused and took a detour on his way down to the kitchens to fetch Arthur's breakfast. He fingered the parchment and feather in his pocket and trotted down the corridor toward Morgana's chambers.

He had a message to deliver.

* * *

Morgana had been eating breakfast with Uther, who had been in fine form this morning – condemning magic in every way he possibly could, cursing those who used it, vowing once again that he was going to wipe out every sorcerer that dared set foot in Camelot or any of its outlying villages. His rants had ground at his ward more than ever, now that she knew for a fact that what she possessed truly  _was_  magic. It had taken all that she had not to leave the table and storm back to her room, cursing Uther all the way. How  _dare_ he be that callous toward her own kind?

When she stepped through the door into her chambers after the meal was over, she knew that something was different. She couldn't tell what, exactly, not at first, but she could  _feel_  it in her heart that her room was not the same as it was when she had left early this morning. She felt a warmth surround her like she hadn't felt since Harry had held her and kissed her tenderly, almost as if his presence was somehow embodied in her room.

Her eyes were drawn to her desk and they widened as they took in that which had altered the aura of her room. Upon her desk was perched a neatly rolled up piece of parchment with a fiery orange and red  _something_ protruding from inside the curls of the paper.

Heart beating madly, Morgana strode across the room to her desk and picked up the parchment with shaking hands. It was different from the paper they used in Camelot, like none she had ever seen before. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as what she had already suspected – hoped – had been confirmed. It had to be from the future.  _It had to be from Harry._

With trembling fingers, she smoothed out the parchment to see the most beautiful, radiant feather she had ever laid eyes upon gleaming in the rays beaming from the sun through her window. Her breath caught in her throat as she stroked the magnificent gift. Delicately placing the feather on her desk, she took a deep breath, locked her eyes onto the words written on the letter, and began to read.

_Dear Morgana –_

_Words cannot express how much it hurts me to leave you. I never thought I would want to stay in the past, in a place where my possession of magic – a possession that I have no control over – could get me killed. I never thought I would be in a situation where my heart was literally being ripped in two, part of me needing to go back to my home, my life, my school, my friends, my time… and the other wanting more than anything to remain in the heart of Camelot with you._

_But then again, I never thought I would fall in love with you, either._

_The feather was a gift from a friend of mine – a rare, magical bird of fire named Fawkes. I give it to you with a hope that it will remind you of me and that the world I come from is not as untouchable or intangible as you might think. Who knows – we may just be destined to meet again someday._

_I know it is probably in vain that I ask for your forgiveness, Morgana. But I had to go back to Hogwarts. If I were to stay in Camelot with you, or if you were to come to the future with me, we would mess up everything in the past and the future. You see, Morgana, you are important. Your part in your future, my history, has yet to be written and it is up to you to decide how you are going to write it._

_I beg of you – remember me in the best light you possibly can. I don't know what my future will bring, and neither do you. I swear that I will think of you every day and that you, Morgana, will be my guiding light that reminds me to never use my magic for anything but good._

_I miss you more than you know, and leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Upon arriving in Camelot from the distant future, I would have never imagined that I would give my heart away in the process._

_I love you and I hope you can forgive me someday and remember to use your magic for good as I vow to do in your honor._

_—Harry_

_P.S. – Please don't let anyone find this letter – I can't stand to think of you getting into trouble because of what I have written to implicate you – burn it after you read it, please, to keep yourself safe, but keep the feather to remember me by if you wish._

Morgana felt tears running down her face and she made no move to wipe them away as she sat in her desk chair, still gazing longingly at the parchment and feather before her. So like Harry – worried about her own safety, even if it meant the burning of his own heartfelt letter to her! She wondered what he had meant by his cryptic words that they may yet meet again. Her heart sped up drastically at the thought of seeing him again.

She knew that he was right, that she should burn the letter to keep herself safe and use the feather to remember him by – although she was still upset that he had left, she knew that she would never hate him and had forgiven him. How could she not?

Yes, she should burn the letter. She picked it up, tears still falling down her cheeks, and hastened over to her bed, tucking the paper firmly under the mattress. She  _should_  burn the letter – that didn't mean she was going to.

She smiled softly as she caressed the orange feather with loving fingers, tears beginning to dry. Even after everything that had happened over the last few days, she felt a peace descend upon her. For the first time since her nightmares had begun, she realized that she was not alone.

And that was the most wonderful feeling a magic-bearer in the heart of an anti-magic Camelot could harbor. Little did she know, another sorcerer who had been faced with a similar feeling of aloneness in the danger of Uther's reign was now rejoicing in the same kind of realization. Just as Morgana knew that she wasn't alone in the world even more, so did Merlin. Morgana knew about her magic, and Arthur knew about Merlin's.

For the first time in a long time, all was well.

**The End**


End file.
